Gang-lord's Love
by Eyes like Dawn
Summary: Desperation drives home town librarian Belle French to make a deal with the notorious international gang-lord of the Dark One's, Mr. Gold. When the deal is struck she finds herself plunged into a dangerous world she never dreamed of being a part of with a man she never thought she would fall for.
1. Desperate Deal

_A/N: Well, well, here we are again. I hope you enjoy guys and gals :3  
_

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from OUaT. Pity really….**

**~8~8~**

Rent.

Medicine.

Annabelle "Belle" French grimaced inwardly as the two words resounded like mournful dirges through her head. A frown, laced with worry and fatigue from working double shifts, perched upon her pink lips whilst she contemplated the two most important words in her life: rent or medicine?

Cool summer wind, with electricity bearing upon the zephyrs breath, heralded with the feel of a nasty storm dancing precariously on the gray horizon, whipped the few crisp hundreds in Annabelle's grip as though cruelly trying to steal her meager funds away from her clutches. Her dark umber hair fluttered like a tattered pennant in the air strafing into her worry lined face as she clutched the money desperately to her chest.

The sky was darkly blanketed with thick curdled clouds of iron gray that warned of a summer squall nearing the sleepy town from the usually tranquil bay on the other side of the hamlet.

Leaves stirred and rustled in disquiet as the wind rippled through the tree limbs and the dust swirled over the barren roadway outside the old, nearly dilapidated library. The wailing wind whispered of the peril, filling Belle's heart with a peculiar part of dread that clutched her soul with a cold, vicious claw.

Standing on the curb outside of the library, the hard working Miss French swiveled her head to the right and left of the road, her mind and heart caught in riotous indecision that laid before her.

To the left was the pharmacy where her papa's atrociously expensive medicine awaited to be paid for and picked up. In the past few days he'd gotten sicker and the good doctor Whale had prescribed a slew of new medicines that cost a whopping 200 dollars mingled with her father's already expensive pills and medical aid that totaled everything to an outlandish fee of 500 dollars a month.

With her small check as the only librarian in Storybrooke, after paying for food and the other necessities of their tiny apartment of water and electricity, his medical expenses left nary ten dollars in her pocket for the rest of the month.

Looking to her right the beauty frowned ponderously, her stomach twirling crazily with anxiousness wracking her slender form. To the right, leading down a few streets many avoided, was the direction of Mr. Gold's antique and pawn shop.

Mr. Gold, the wealthiest man in all of Storybrooke, was many things to many people. He was a miser, a lawyer, a business man, an entrepreneur, a land lord, a heartless brute, and to many he was a cold hearted beast without a spec of compassion in his black soul. But everyone new the one thing he was first and foremost even if they dared not speak the fact aloud but in the shadows of the filthiest bars and under the covers of their homes where preying ears did not lean to hear.

Mr. Gold ran the underworld of Storybrooke, and perhaps the whole of the Maine single handedly, and with an iron fist that struck down any competition finally and utterly with a devastating mark that left nothing after his murderous wrath.

Small criminal syndicates and would be gangs that dotted the streets were akin to gnats compared to the austere Mr. Gold who was the unchallenged bull of the crime world. No illegal doings happened without falling under his tactile brown eyes. He ruled like a king over robberies and extortion and weapons smuggling and drugs and any other criminal dealings anyone could fathom.

Those criminals who thought themselves loners or in gangs not run by the tactile businessman were sorely mistaken. He ran everything, playing everyone like marionettes to his underworld doings.

Many believed he ran the multi-billion dollar organization of the "Dark One's" in big cities across the world all from his home and shop in the quaint town. His life was the perfect cover for who would ever suspect a shop keeper to be the leader of some gang that ran the world over? No one outside of their town would ever believe the quiet but cruel single man living all alone with his fortune in the back woods of a tiny Maine province.

But nonetheless the fact was all too true.

Mostly everything in his life was a front for the fact that he did hold the utmost criminal power, and everyone from granny who ran the diner to the mayor knew of his façades, his beastly mockery of a law abiding citizen. They just couldn't prove his doings with cold, hard facts that could lock him up from prowling good, honest folk and terrifying the citizenry.

That little sting of knowledge had been the bane of all sheriffs in the town and the mayor who constantly attempted to squash the illegal doings of Mr. Gold. Files on the wily gang lord were thicker than phone books and operation to catch him made up most of the funds for the police department.

Despite all their efforts he was too slippery a snake, always five steps ahead of them and ever with the cocky smirk of superiority and clean hands as he slipped through the fingers of justice like sand.

Though the new deputy, a tough as nails former bail bondswoman, was making ripples in Storybrooke, and potentially threatening the crime lord's doings, still they could not pin an illegal act on the man though his sins were rife and blatantly displayed.

When a horrid gang murder or someone that owed the businessman man dirty money went completed all knew who ordered the hit, but the blame never fell back to him. Of course that did not make him a soft criminal because he rarely personally shed blood. Oh no, far from that naive thought.

Stories of old flew through Belle's mind at the memories of old newspaper clippings, snippets from whispers, and home town gossip that stirred the sleepy hamlet into roaring blazes from time to time.

People had winded up dead or with broken limbs at the order of Mr. Gold. He was not a kind man by any means. She even found out that when her papa was a younger, spryer man the gang lord of Storybrooke had even personally beaten her father black and blue after some issue with a van and her papa had foolishly tried to steal from the gang lord, but her father had been too scared to bring criminal charges to him after his savage mauling.

Still, the gang lord owned nearly every property in Storybrooke, and she owed him rent; 500 dollars exactly.

She was not afraid he would turn his few underworld cronies who managed to work for him on her, or have her and her father roughed up for not paying. Those brutes were for collecting from his underworld patrons, but he would turn them out in a frigid heart beat leaving them mendicants with no place to stay and no place for her papa to live as he lay mostly bedridden and mortally ill.

Once more looking to the right and the left, the beauty allowed a soft, troubled sigh to escape her lips. She raked a hand through her wild, wind blown dark amber tresses, holding back a cry of frustration. If she didn't get his medicine her papa would die a slow, painful death wracked with bloody coughs and disorientation. But if she didn't pay, how was she too care for him properly?

Turning to left, she bravely forced herself to walk down the gray sidewalk leading to the drugstore. Thunder drummed threateningly in the distance like the hammer of a gavel coming down to finalize her decision. The rumble dangerously heralding the furious storms approach made her walk faster down to what she hoped was the right choice.

After she paid for the medicine and went home to care for her papa and give him his pills she would go to Mr. Gold, she determined in herself. With every step she spurred promise into her flagging heart. There had to be something she could do to keep their apartment and not be tossed out, there had to be… she hoped.

~8~8~

Trepidation filled Belle's stout, fluttering heart as she stood in front of Mr. Gold's pawnshop. The quaint little establishment was an off white wooden shop with the windows covered by thick brown blinds, that looked to need a fair dusting. The name of the place was stenciled over the window in dull burnished gold giving the shop a home town feel.

To any who did not know of the gang lord, the place looked like a simple hometown shop any tourist or local would visit for little baubles to take home or lovely odds and ends.

The sign above his shop creaked upon rusted hinges in the howling wind, detailing the signs age. To Annabelle, the creaking sounded of a warning from the world itself telling her to turn away from the beast within. Staring at the paint chipped door, the open sign was like a threat, daring her to enter without the funds she normally held.

She left akin to a knight standing in front of the musty, cold maw of a dragon's lair where the beast stirred hungrily for any foolish enough to enter his domain. Her hand curled over her less than full purse as though he were an empty sword scabbard. Without the money what hope did she have?

A few cold raindrops pattered from the gray sky as she stood out, trying to bolster her courage. The storm seemed to be a hand, prodding her into the shop, if just for shelter from the elements.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, the beauty pushed open the glass door. The small, rusted bronze bell over the threshold tinkled insipidly as though unhappy about getting so little use. Her icy blue eyes darted about nervously as she stepped inside the dimly lit establishment. The shop had a way of making people feel unwelcome and under the scrutiny of many eyes hidden behind the fragile porcelain vases and old nick-knacks crowded about.

The first loud boom of thunder crashed loudly over the sleepy shire just as she entered. Startled, she forced herself not to jump. Her skin crawled with the tingling sensation of anxiousness. Goosebumps raced over his arms detailing her wariness.

As though the thunder were a booming clarion call, the firmament let forth the rain pent up in their clouds. Large drops of fat rain fell in a veritable deluge, soaking the world in a gray curtain and leaving the beauty with no way out to escape the beast of Storybrooke.

"Miss French." The accented voice of Mr. Gold greeted her with a cool acknowledgment, his tone always a mix of forced pleasantness and danger. Behind the counter, the always neat and trim Mr. Gold stood tinkering and appraising with some old emerald ring.

A thin smile carved upon his lips as he placed the ring down upon the bed of dark satin. "I was wondering if you would show up today, you're cutting your rent pay mighty close. I'd hate to have to send one of my…associates with your eviction notice."

Out of many of his tenants in the many places he owned, Annabelle French stood out for her punctual payments and ability to get her rent in on time without complaint or hassle. For a woman with very little means she had a sense of reliability about her. He felt a certain satisfaction seeing her face every first of the month with his money and exchange a polite, if not nervous pleasantry or two, then begin the entire thing over again the next month.

Clearing her throat nervously the beauty padded closer to the glass worked counter. Her hands fidgeted nervously as she forced herself to stare at him. "That's…um…that's what I came to talk about."

Cold silence and curiosity emanated from the pawn broker, filling her with dark dread seeping through her gratuitously flagging courage. His silence was rarely, if ever, a good thing.

Choking back her fear she stood on the opposite side of the counter, her fingers drumming nervously over the glass. "I don't have the rent this month." She admitted in a wary breath.

There was no use rambling off the lists of excuses and reasons, she knew imperatively. She had often seen people getting evicted, or not having enough money to pay back their loans, desperately screaming their woes to him to no avail. A mother had passed away, a child ill, a mistake, or a fire that burned everything. None of the trials of life and happenstance mattered to the hard-hearted Mr. Gold.

"That's a shame Miss French." He shook his head slightly, a frown pulling at his lips. "But if you came here for an extension you know I don't offer any."

Her deep blue eyes turned away. "I know. I came here wondering if we could find a way to work something out."

Before he could reply, the phone in his suit pocket buzzed. "A moment please." He asked politely. Holding up a finger, he turned away, grabbed his cane and limped into the back room all in one smooth motion. For a man with a noticeable limp, he always seemed as smooth and graceful as a prowling cat.

Despondent, the beauty leaned against the counter and wracked her brain to try to come to some accord with the beast of Storybrooke. She didn't have anything to offer him. She had no special skills, not ones he needed anyway unless he needed someone to stamp due dates on book cards, and nothing to offer him equal in payment enough to pawn.

A forlorn sigh tumbled from her lips as she forced away hot tears of disparity that threatened to fall from her azure orbs. Wet brimmed on the rim of her cornflower blue eyes, but she refused to shed the tears of shame for not being able to provide to those that relied upon her.

As long as she was there, she supposed glumly, she could at least get the eviction not-

"What do you mean he was arrested?" She heard the businessman hiss from the back of his shop. Her brow crinkled slightly at the strange ill boding words. One of Gold cronies had been arrested?

The angrily spoken words were like a hand of fate tearing the beauty's morose thoughts away from her woes and piteous plight. Shaking her head to rid herself of the tears she cocked an ear to his lowly snarled words.

"Did he have the money with him?" She heard him snap to the poor soul who was on the other end of the phone. "Small mercies then." His voice lost an inkling of the terrible growl his tone possessed when he was furious. "But if Miss Swann has patrols around the bank there could be trouble. She knows my people; I can't risk her getting her hands on that money."

A low curse spat from his lips as he hung up the phone without another word. Belle could almost picture him jamming the phone furiously into his silk laced pocket, his face twisted with the fury that kept the people of Storybrooke cowed and silent of speaking up.

Many people often wondered how Gold moved his money. They knew he always dealt in cash, but with the amounts there was always some shady soul taking a black brief case to the Storybrooke bank and always for an unnamed benefactor. Gold was always careful with his underworld dealings. Nothing _ever _led back to him.

The brown and burgundy beads covering the door leading to the back of the shop jangled almost ominously and the steady thump of a cane rang nearer, telling the beauty her land lord had returned. Turning her thoughts away from the contemplations she focused back upon him, her mind suddenly rife with ideas.

While many would have pretended they had never heard or even rejoiced at his black luck, the beauty saw her narrow chance to save her tiny apartment, the only place her papa had to call home, at least for one more month.

"Let me take the money." She offered bravely, daring to acknowledge she had listened in when she shouldn't have. Speaking of the matter was a dangerous game, but one she could ill afford not to play.

Gold's eyes narrowed into dangerous thin slits at her words. His hand curled tighter over the golden hilt of his cane as he limped back to his place behind the counter. "It's not polite to ease drop, Dearie. Something bad can happen to you."

Dread pool in icy torrents in her belly at the all too blatantly obvious threat. Her heart shriveled at his curt tone as he pinioned his anger towards her. No one else would dare bring up his 'business' in front of his face, not unless they had a death wish.

Nevertheless she continued, spurring her bravery onward fearlessly. "I need to make rent and you need some one to deposit that money. They won't suspect me; I'm just the town librarian."

For a moment, the beast of Storybrooke stared hard at the brave woman who dared speak of his doings so blatantly in his face. She was desperate, but he knew she was reliable.

Part of him had to wonder if her words were all a set-up and she donned a wire under her shabby clothes, but immediately tossed the ridiculous notion away. She had too much to lose to try and partner up with his foes.

Abruptly an utterly dangerous smile bloomed over his lips. Her courage impressed him in a way that none other had. Normally he conscripted low life's and drunks to do his dirty work, people who could easily be stricken away, but he never excepted a volunteer, mostly because he had not seen anyone so desperate to plead for a job from him. The offer was a risky one; still, he did love making deals with people that would suit his needs.

"It's a cool 2.5 million in cash." He replied calmly, acknowledging just a little that could never be traced back to him even if she dared to sell him out. "If you do this there is a chance you'll be arrested, your job lost in the blink of an eye. As I understand the situation your father is bed ridden, unable to support himself if you are locked up." He allowed the last part to slip from his lips as an underlying warning. While she might think herself just a nameless face, he knew her, just as he knew everybody and their weaknesses.

She nodded tersely, knowing every word that came from his mouth was a warning. "I understand, but I need to keep our apartment. I don't have anything of value to pawn, or the pay so I either run this money or be homeless."

Looking down, he played with the expensive ring around his fingertips. "You do understand Miss French if you do this, I will own you. I will have every piece of evidence I need to forever hold you under my debt. You will be one of the unlucky few that perhaps permanently work for me. If this succeeds and I have another job that will fit my needs you will have no choice but to do my bidding or suffer the consequences of being found out. In simplicity I have no qualms blackmailing you or selling you out to the police when it suits my needs and ends." He explained, inexplicably cold.

Swallowing hard the beauty tentatively embraced the situation. What other choice did she have? "I understand."

"Then we have an accord Miss French." He held out his hand. A large, feral grin marbled upon his scraggy features akin to a smiling wolf who found himself a lame prey.

Slowly, the beauty outstretched her hand, tremulously taking his. With the handshake the deal was struck.

"You do know that to get the money in the vault and how you get into the bank is your problem." He added on as though he had forgotten to mention the little fact.

Abruptly, his grip tightened over her hand but he kept the same wolfish smile. His eyes were cold shards of brown cutting into her like knives carving at her courage. "And I hope you also know that if you try to take that money and stupidly run or get caught by the police like my other unfortunate associate, then rent will be the very least of your worries. Of that I can assure you with no doubt."

Terror filled Anna at his venomous, undisguised threat that promised pain or death if she failed to deliver. He was not below killing anyone who betrayed him or was a potential target to take him down. Murder was a word he knew well and would not hesitate to call upon his favorite hit men to do the job and rid him of his little problem if she so became one.

Still, she smiled as warmly as she could muster towards the beast of Storybrooke. The deal was struck, by a handshake from a desperate woman to a gang lord who needed a favor.

There was no going back now, she knew without an inkling of doubt. She worked for Mr. Gold.

~8~8~

_A/N: So yeah, new story. I always thought Mr. Gold would make a good, chiche gangster. I have not abandoned my other story 'The Mastery of Magic', and per usual nowadays, I cannot promise steady updates, but I shall try. _


	2. Break In

_A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing! _

**~8~8~**

Glorious slants of warm morning sun dappled through the lush canopy of verdant tree tops that surrounded the backwoods town of Storybrooke. Flaxen beams floated down to the earth, turning all a gilded gold in their glow. Gold twinkled brightly off beaded little droplets of rain left over from the night's vicious storm, swathing the land in the glittering of bedewed jewels whilst rays of fresh sun glistened like diamonds from the ends of the glossy leaves and the blades of emerald grass.

The sky was an endless azure leaving no trace of the gale that gnashed at the town the day before.

The black roads and gray sidewalks were clean and slick with rain like a hand had scrubbed the dust and dirt away. Silvery, misty evaporation from the rising summer heat drifted lazily upwards to the lidless sun, drying up the wet that laid over the tranquil land. The world of Storybrooke seemed washed anew with the dangerous gale that assaulted their town the night before. A cool, refreshed feeling lingered on the breeze in the squalls place. The shire looked bright and new and vibrant and more than ready for what adventures were to be had on its face.

The gorgeous morn was lost to upon Belle French as she watched the entrance to the bank from a weed choked lot covered with old fencing. Normally the beauty walked everywhere she went in the tiny town since she had no car of her own and nothing was ever too far away, but today she road the libraries ancient book mobile over the wet roadways and intersections.

Though the size of the van was impossible not to notice, the old book mobile was the perfect cover for her task. Nobody really gave the lumbering old van a second glance in the sleepy town, giving her protection somewhat from curious eyes. They all knew in the years she had toiled at the library she would be out and about in the summer, while the children were out of school, in attempts to get people to read with her always novel library programs.

The hulking van she sat in seemed to have belonged to the library since time immemorial and the fact showed in every way. Rust covered most of the steel on the bumpers and fringe of the old van. Checkered dull brown and burgundy squares adorned the whole of the lumbering vehicle in some droll fashion. The checkered pattern and the name on the book mobile was mostly chipped away showing the dull gray color the van had been before being painted a life time ago.

Inside, the book mobile was spacey and equipped with old shelves for books and enough room to accommodate a few browsers to peruse the dilapidated shelves. Now, however, the van carried a much greater cargo than her precious, well kept tomes.

In place of books, large deposit boxes sat along the sides of the van. The large bins that were once only a steel gray were covered and painted with children's artwork.

Every year the library had a sort of book drive, and each year Belle's ideas had been different. Now, the bins which meant to get people to help donate their old books also served a double purpose.

Belle stoically forced her tremulously shivering nerves to settle their riotous quaking as she scoped out the Storybrooke National bank from just far away not to be noticed.

The small bank was a simple affair in the vapid heart of the home town. Sturdy gray walls and thick dark doors with bulletproof glass made up the almost home like bank. Security was very low since nobody in the history of all who lived in the quaint hamlet had known of a robbery. A few bounced checks were all the bank had ever had to deal with.

Though the bank was relativity safe, especially with Mr. Gold's money filling the shires coffers, the Storybrooke deputy Emma Swann loitered about the entrance like a fly over a rotting carcass.

Her red leather jacket that had become a staple of her presence since she arrived was long gone in the blistering summer heat. Instead she donned a loose, silken white shirt and a pair of jeans with black boots that looked fit for running and pursuing prey. Her gun holster was secured about her torso with the black steel of her weapon sticking out at her side.

A bored look marbled her pretty visage as she yawned behind her hand and laconically scanned the nearly empty parking lot and the few people who entered with business. Nobody was checked physically, but her sights on them told the beauty she was not letting them go in without a quick perusal of the eyes to see if they carried any briefcases of bulging wads of cash.

To Belle, she seemed like a lion barring the way to a finish line. Even from a distance she could see the new law official targeting her prey with an expert eye for detail.

Stories of the new deputy were already floating about the sleepy hamlet. In her brief time she cuffed not one, but two of Gold's illegal associates and was determined not to let the big payment she knew was coming into the bank through.

She would have to be dealt with… somehow.

Muttering a desperate plea beneath her tremulous breath, Belle turned the key in the ignition of the van. The old, rickety vehicle miraculously chocked twice giving a rumbling cough and stuttered to life as the engine turned over. Putting the old van in gear she slowly pulled out the old, asphalt cracked lot and rode vapidly to the bank.

Her heart slammed wantonly against her chest as she put the book mobile in park in the nearest space next to the deputy and the door. Behind her, amidst junk and a pile of books sat exactly 2.5 million dollars in fifteen dark blue duffel bags all stuffed away in the base of the bins.

Courage swelled in her indomitable soul with the fact that insofar, despite all her fears and worries, she had not gotten caught. All through the morning from her cold shower to her meager breakfast she had expected a swat team of police to burst down the thin door of her small apartment and haul her off to prison for conspiring with the gang lord, but none had. The world had gone on like any other ordinary day, all except she was hauling cash for a murderous gang lord in the back of a book mobile.

Now her goal was so close she could almost taste the cool air of the bank and the fresh crispness of bills. Her safety of rent laid just a few steps away. Oh but the trade was much trickier than that she knew just by examining the situation. The deputy would never just let her waltz in riding such a van that could easily stash a sizable chunk of cash in the machines old confines.

Jiggling with the sticking door handle, she stepped out of the rusted book mobile before Emma could come to her. A false smile played upon her lips as she grabbed a clip-board and pen from the frayed seat next to her and padded to the narrow eyed Emma Swann.

"Good morning deputy." Belle forced friendliness in her tone, her smile an intrepid risk in the face of one who would have no qualms carting her off to county if she discovered the funds lodged in the van. Keeping the clipboard tightly in her delicate fingers like a shield she strode bravely in front of the always incredulous deputy.

Emma gave a succinct nod, her eyes inspecting the librarian as though she were hiding something beneath the holds of her blue and black knee length dress. "Morning…." She paused for a moment then snapped her fingers. "French. That's it." She conjured up the name from the sharp annals of her mind. "You're the librarian right?"

Despite her piercing gaze her tone spoke of friendliness putting Belle's mind slightly at ease. She looked dangerous but perhaps there was something implacably soft under the prickly, tough as nails exterior of the bail bondswoman turned deputy. Perhaps she only looked tough because she had to be in her situation.

"That's right but just Belle will do. Everyone in this town calls me Belle." She corrected with a less tense laugh. "Since I was coming here anyway and I saw you I thought to save myself a trip. The library is having a book drive and this year we're placing book deposits all over the town; the mayor's office, here, the fire station and a few other places." She held out the officious clipboard. "Think Sheriff Graham would mind us putting one at the police station?"

Shaking her head happily, Emma grinned much more amiably at the chipper librarian. "I don't think he'd mind much. You know, hometown pride and everything." She took the clipboard and scribbled down her signature with the attached pen." Abruptly her gaze flickered up to the rusted, in need of a paint job book mobile sitting grimly in the lot. "Is the book deposit in the van?" Her tone was laced with suspicion.

Belle's heart leapt tightly into her throat at the frightening words that possibly foretold her incarceration. Blood galloped madly through her veins with dread as the deputy's knowing blue eyes locked to the van with a stern, penetrating glare of a bounty hunter.

Nodding, Belle smiled companionably. Her wide grin felt as false as the sturdiness in her voice as she proffered a hand to the van. "Of course. I'm taking the old thing around the back so they can put the box where they'd like. I wouldn't want to block the entrance with me moving the box, their quite cumbersome. Would you care to see them? The children at elementary school decorated them all differently."

"I think I will." Murmured the blonde, her eyes stapled on the van. She looked at the vehicle as though a treasure laid buried deep in the metal and rust. And in a way she was right.

If money was getting into the bank that van would be the perfect cover. But, she could not help but think herself a little paranoid in the face of the librarian. Belle seemed a nice, friendly and quiet woman who liked her job. Not the type to be gallivanting about with blood thirsty gangsters or conspiring with them.

Nerves trembling, the beauty strode with a forced ease to the van. Trepidation fluttered in her heart like a caged bird beating wildly against her chest to be free. The keys jangling in her pocket rang dreadfully in her ears like the rustling of shackles about her feet and wrists. Her slender form could almost feel the weight of chains bound about her as two police led her too a small cell to spend her years.

Emma would discover the cash, she just knew dismally, but there was no way to stop her.

The hinges on the doors creaked with rust as the blue eyed beauty swung open the back of the van. A series of large rectangular boxes made for depositing books sat strapped in the corners of the van. There were ten of them, each decorated with a certain theme such as dragons or space ships or cowboys.

Hopping inside, the newly conscripted deputy swung her expert gaze back and forth in the spartan van. There wasn't much in the vehicle at all unless the metal floor came up to reveal a pit of cash. The shelves were barren, there were no bags or any huge pile to cover a load of fresh, crisp bills.

Her fingers ran along the sides and the edges of the book mobile as she ambled about, looking at the bins. Blue eyes searched for a hint of a bag or a wrapper that would hold cash but there was none. Still, despite herself, she could not help thinking something was amiss though everything seemed right.

Padding to one of the gaily decorated deposit boxes with a pink tutu clad ballerina on the top she crossed her arms and admired the childish art. "They're good." She acknowledged with a small nod.

Flipping one of the lids up, she stood on her tip toes to peer inside but the van's electricity had given out years ago and made the inside too dark too see. Her eyes vainly searched the thick dark, narrowing to penetrate the sable, but she could not. At any rate she couldn't discern any lumps of wads of cash with what few slivers of light fell inside.

"Henry helped with this one." Belle pointed to a box with a cardboard warrior touting a sword and shield attached to the side.

Surprise filled her, as she found herself nearly at ease with the sheriff's perusal of the money laden boxes. Her heart had nearly frozen in her chest as the blonde lifted open one of the bins, but she had covered the bottoms with a dark tarp and laid everything flat as possible.

The mention of her biological son sent the deputies mind far away from the money. Her eyes glimmered with the mention of her adopted boy who was in the clutches of the mayor. "How'd you know Henry?" Her voice was laced with eagerness she could not hide behind a gruff wall. She seemed as though any information about the boy was a succulent morsel to her starving senses.

"He talks about you sometimes." The beauty shrugged slightly, her words more than true. "He's one of my biggest customers at the library."

Soft, almost motherly laughter fell from the deputy's lips at the all too true words. A bit of pain sparkled in her blue eyes but she stoically held the regret back from her no nonsense features. "Yeah, that sounds like the kid."

Off her guard, the deputy stepped down from the nearly barren van. If there was anything to hide then the money had to be invisible.

Belle jerked a thumb back to the bank. "I'll just move the van to the back to move the box. Do you want to help?"

"Oh I'd love too but…." The deputy's eyes turned back to the bank entrance. "I'm sorry I can't. But to make it up I'll drop a few books by."

"Great." Belle smiled pleasantly as she shut the doors.

The sound of the doors clashing and scraping together was akin to the steadying beating of her heart, finally soothing its errant tattoo. Waving goodbye she entered the van again.

Once she was certain the sheriff was no longer in suspicion of the van she let her shoulders slump down in freedom from pent up anxiety. Emotion bubbled to the surface of her false face cracking away to what she truly felt beneath her calm exterior. Relief echoed from her lips in a gargantuan sigh. Leaning her head against the head rest she closed her eyes to keep back nervous tears from spilling down her cheeks.

She was through, by heaven she was through!

Forcing her trembling hand to turn the engine, she waved to the deputy as she backed the truck into the back of the bank. The back of the bank was in a narrow, gray cobblestone alleyway, giving the perfect cover to hide deal doings from passing eyes.

Stepping out nimbly, she knocked on the thick, latch-less back door. The eye slide slapped opened revealing a pair of gray eyes behind the thick glass. In a moment the door opened revealing the cheery, ruddy and plump face of the bank manager.

His neat suit was slightly ruffled as he slipped out into the alley without a hint of fear the beauty would waylay him. Belle was known, if just formally, through the town.

"Miss French." He shook her hand warmly, his tone deep and amiable. His eyes were nearly invisible behind his round cheeks as he smiled. "You have our box from the children?"

"Indeed I do, and a little more." Her lovely smile dipped into a frown, her voice a whisper on the wind. "I also have a deposit from a private source who did not wish to be named."

Immediately the welcoming banker's smile disappeared quicker than his grin had come. His ruddy flesh paled into a waxy, milky hue as though he'd seen a ghost flit by. All too well, he knew what those words meant and who the money belonged.

Fine wrinkles of pity formed seamlessly upon his heavy brow. "He got to you?" His voice was nary above a deathly whisper though no accusation laced his tone.

"I didn't have a choice." Belle turned her azure eyes away, unable to look at the banker's features knotted with pity and misunderstanding. She might as well have had a brand upon her forehead detailing her as the soul property of Mr. Gold in big, bright purple letters. "We don't have much time; the money is in the van."

Consternation and abject confusion flashed in his gray orbs. He cocked his balding head to the side, trying to consider the way the money would get in without the deputy's notice "How…?"

"In the boxes." She explained lowly. "I'll pull out the bags at the bottom of the boxes. They're fifteen duffel bags filled with the money. I'll bring them out and your book deposit box."

Sweat beaded profusely off the bank mangers forehead as the beauty stepped away. Dabbing at his brow with the edge of his sleeve he nodded vigorously almost akin to a nervous wood pecker. "I'll write you up the bank receipt. He never goes without wanting his receipt."

"I'll put them on the inside of the bank." Belle replied as she opened the van doors. She flinched as the rusted hinges shrieked luridly into the hot air with their shrill creaking. "We'll have to be quick."

Working as quickly and silently as she dared the beauty kept an ear out for the thud of boots on cobblestone least Miss Swann come to investigate what was taking so long. If she came around the corner to the wet alley and saw….

Belle shivered, forcing the unpleasant thought far away from her mind as she tossed the heavy duffel bags out. Already she felt guilty for tricking the deputy and doubly so for using the children's art works as money stores to bypass the watchful eyes of the law.

The bags felt like lead balls in her hands, each a strike on her conscious and her guilt in the eyes of the law. Still, she could not go back now.

Once the last bag was put into the bank, the manager waddled out less eagerly than before. Sweat swathed his face in an oily sheen detailing his nervousness with the whole business.

Hands trembling awkwardly, he thrust the crisp, sweaty receipt into her hands. "I'm so sorry this is what your situation has come too, Belle." He clasped her hands tight between his own in a comforting grasp. "Hopefully you'll make it longer in his services than the others. Be ruthless when needed but show mercy where you can. Keep your head down, never try to cheat him no matter the amount, and always watch your back. The others I've warned never truly listened. I hope you will. You were always different, maybe that's a good thing."

A forced, half hearted laugh fell from her throat as his words of advice, freely given, sank in. She shook her head slightly like he was a rambling child. "This is only one time." She lied aloud to herself as well as the bank manager. "I'm not a criminal. I just needed to pay rent."

"Let's hope so, Miss French." He patted her hand once as he released her from his grip. "Let's certainly hope so."

Shaking his head inwardly the bank manager watched as the beauty closed the doors, hopped back into the truck, and hastily turned the old machine over. If she was lucky maybe she would live a decently long life under the service of the gang lord.

Worn tires on the rusty book mobile sloshed through grimy puddles in the cobblestone alleyway as Belle slowly drove away from the bank with her empty cargo. After a week of wracking her brain her mind was mildly at ease.

Relief seeped warmly into her slender form like the sweetness of cocoa filling a cold body. With the task done she felt like an invisible hand uplifted a mantle of worry from her shoulders. The money was safe now in the bank and she was free of her debt.

As she sped down the roads, her mind was awhirl with the helpful if not ominous words of the bank manager who must have done more business with Gold than anyone. He must have seen plenty of runners for Mr. Gold come through with money and knew of their fates of prison or death from gossip and the papers.

Would hers be the same?

Denying the contemplations staunchly, the beauty turned down the road that led back to the fire department to make her other stops along the way. She would not end up like those who had gone 'missing' from his employ or remained silent as the grave in their prison cell, she determined in a promise to herself, she would be different.

Besides, the money was only a one time thing and she had pulled the job off with relative safety. Miss Swann hadn't even found a scrap of evidence.

Only then, with that sudden thought, did the true weight of what she had done come crashing down upon her. The suddenly obvious thought hit her with the force akin to a meaty fist against her head. Utter amazement replaced her worry with a wave of awe at herself.

Eyes wide, she could not help but be amazed. She, the odd girl, Belle French had actually smuggled a handsome load of cash from a notorious gang lord past a police official and left smelling like a rose.

The thought was so profound, she could barely explain the sensations coursing through her blood like electric wine. Elation, thrills, giddiness all swam through her slender figure. Pleased, Belle briefly cast a glance down at her hands. Her fingers, gripped in a vice over the old steering wheel, shook violently now that the trial was done.

Smiling, she couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear no matter how hard she tried.

~8~8~

"Well you're not in handcuffs or floating face down in the bay so I assume the deposit went well." Mr. Gold remarked wryly as Belle entered his shop later in the day. The words came sailing from his mouth even without looking to see if the soul who had dared walk into his shop was who he thought. His words, bereft of an inkling of doubt, came smoothly out of his mouth as soon as she entered.

A gray apron was neatly wrapped around one of his fine dark suits as he worked on putting a layer of dark varnish over an old mantle clock. His hands showed the greatest of care with each careful stroke of the paintbrush, displaying a finesse of fingers and mind melded curiously into one.

Fist to her mouth, Belle coughed awkwardly to clear her throat. She had no true reason to feel nervous, but she did just the same. "Yes all the money's there." Now, she sighed inwardly in abject relief, the last thing she needed to do was give Mr. Gold the receipt and she was done. Thinking of the receipt for the first time in hours, she fumbled in her dress pocket like a mad woman for the scrap of paper. "I…uh…I have the receipt right here."

Nearing the counter, the beauty delicately placed the crumpled bank receipt on the glass face for his perusal.

Without caring to take a glance, the gang lord dabbed a thick splotch of umber paint over the receipt to hide the numbers. "The bank manager already called me." He explained casually. "He told me every cent was there. He also told me how you managed to get the money inside."

A wolfish grin infectiously spread upon his lips as he finally put down the clock over a spread out piece of cloth and turned to her. His eyes shimmered almost with an adorable childish delight. "Taking the library van and sticking the bags in the book depots was ingenious Miss French. No one has been able to get that money inside since the new deputy arrived. You've the natural talent and creativity of a smuggler in you."

"I'm just happy everything went smoothly." Belle replied nervously, her mind uncertain whether to feel dread or flattery from his criminal praise. Part of her knew imperatively she should feel heavily ashamed of her actions, yet another part wished to blush with a strange pride as compliments came from his lips.

Normally she had been known as a klutz and an odd girl. No one had ever given her credit of doing something right.

Flashing a small grin she swallowed down a knot of wariness caught in her throat. "Well if that's all. My rents paid for the month and you have your money."

Relief filled the beauty as she turned away. Now she could focus on next months rent and seek more employment to pay for both medicine and payment.

"Just a moment, Miss French." Mr. Gold halted her just as she turned to leave the den of the beast. His accented voice was crisp and businesslike setting her nerves ablaze once more. "We're not done business quite yet." He claimed softly.

Terror welled strongly in the beauty's body and flowed through her veins like poison at his words. Turning back around she was shocked to see a neat block of cash and a black phone sitting on the counter where none had been before. The items almost appeared their by some sort of magic, but as deft as the gang lord was, he was more than capable of producing things seemingly from thin air.

Proffering his hand to the thick wad of bills and the phone, he smiled wider. "You forgot the rest of your pay Miss French."

"My pay?" Her voice timidly echoed confusion. Forcefully wrenching her stare form the money she found his tactile, glinting eyes. "I just wanted to pay rent."

He chuckled slightly, his eyes flashing with genuine amusement. "What you did was worth more than 500 dollars from some cockroach infested hovel. I pay my associates what's fair for each job. 5,000 dollars for smuggling the money is what you'll receive for the job you did considering the deposit was no mean sum. I would pay you more but you are new."

5,000 dollars? Excluding the 2.5 million she had just smuggled into the bank, Belle had never seen so much money all at once, especially with the knowledge that the cash was hers.

"The phone is yours now as well. The back is screwed on. Never try to open the casing to get to the battery." He warned, his amusement suddenly growing serious once more. "You will have this phone nearby at all times. When I need a job done I will call twice. If you do not pick up in that time I will assume you are arrested or dead. And If I find that you are not you will wish you had been. In the event that I do call, you will drop everything you are doing and commence with my instructions. I don't care if your father is coughing up a lung. If this phone rings you do what I tell you too, when I tell you too. Are we clear Miss French?"

Sapphire eyes brimming with trepidation, the beauty swallowed down the writhing lump of vile dread that returned to her esophagus. "But I thought this was only for rent." Of course he had talked of blackmail and using her to meet an end for his dealings, but she never thought he would try to actively keep in touch by doling out a phone and paying her a hefty dose of cash.

She often thought his words were mere blustery threats to frighten her from ever thinking of the deal or what he could do should she try to go to the police.

Now she could see how serious he was and she didn't want it, any of it.

"Don't be foolish Miss French I explained everything to you before you volunteered." The gang lord replied crisply. "After hearing how you masterfully handled the bank job did you honestly think I would just let you walk away?" He shook his head. "You have a rare thing that comes in my line of business: luck and potential."

Her voice cracked as she stared at the glossy black phone. "I don't want any part of this. You can keep the money, please, just let that be the only time."

"I'm sorry, Miss French." Voice devoid of all emotion, a hint of possessiveness laced his accented tone ever so faintly as he leaned forward slightly. "But I never let go of what is mine."

Truly the horror of what she had done on the day to make a most erroneous deal with him struck her with all the fury her senses could muster. No longer did she feel a slither of pride in her heart. Cold, slimy dread replaced what brimming satisfaction that was in her soul. Dismay oozed into her heart like an acrid poison, filling her with morose thoughts. Fear plunged her soul into a dark crag, making her stomach churn violently with nausea.

Desperately she wished to take back the moment she had volunteered but could not. That moment would never come again. Words were not something she could simply pluck from the air and take back.

Slowly she owlishly blinked up to the businessman. The revelation of all she had conscribed too was frighteningly plain past the fog of desperation that once clouded her judgment.

"There's no going back is there? I'm in this now; for good?" Her voice was barley a stunned whisper as the words fell numbly from her pink lips.

"Indeed you are." He pushed the thick wad of money and the phone closer to her. His smile was as cold as a winters storm as tented his fingers and leaned back victoriously in his chair to get a good look at his new prize. "We'll be in touch, Miss French don't doubt that."

Wordlessly, the beauty plucked up the phone and the wad of bills given as pay. Her hands trembled like leaves tossed about in a gale as she tucked them both into her pockets. They felt like shackles dragging her to the ground, but somehow she managed to put one leg in front of the other.

Shock she could not conceal painted her lovely features as she turned and left without another word. Behind her, she knew the beast of Storybrooke was smiling at her, reveling in gaining a new piece of property to transform into another pawn in his dangerous games.

As she left his shop her emotions came roiling out like an over boiling cauldron. Hot tears pricked her azure eyes and brooked freely down her porcelain cheeks with every faltering step to her home. Pain and regret stabbed in her raw heart like a knife digging into her very core.

She had sold herself to do the bidding of a crime lord, forever his pawn until the day she died all for a month's rent. Now there was no way but death or imprisonment to escape his clutches.

Truly, what had she done?


	3. Night Run

_A.N: Thanks for reading and reviewing guys and gals. I'm glad you all like the tale so far!_

**~8~8~**

Thick patches of absolute darkness layered the entirety of Belle's tiny apartment on the oddly mild mid-summers night. Cheerful crickets playing happily through the tall, swaying grasses, serenaded Storybrooke in the utter blackness that fell heavily upon the resting world. Cicadas, buzzing aloft in their pine perches, chirped their cacophonous accord with the crickets symphony; mingling the sounds into a midnight lullaby of the season.

The flavors and sounds of summers repose drifted fragrantly in the warm air and danced upon the sleepy senses of the slumbering populace like an enchantresses sleeping spell.

Resting on the third floor of a dingy apartment complex, Belle's home was the symbol of meager living. The bare necessities for a pitiful existence was all that she could afford and barely that. The apartment wasn't ideal to aid her father with his ailing, but the place was all she could afford on her tiny librarian sum.

A strange buzzing noise droned incessantly inside Belle's ears as she slept soundly on the uncomfortable, lumpy couch in the small living room of the apartment.

The rough couch was a faded orange hue and felt as though someone had stitched the upholstery of thick corduroy. Large rips liberally festooned the old couch that doubled as a bed for the beauty. Patches she had tenaciously darned herself in order to preserve her nearly ramshackle sleeping arrangements were sewn intermittently in a losing battle against phthisis. Gray stuffing constantly tumbled out of the back, and the wood inside was little more than ancient matchsticks and dry kindling precariously balanced to hold the beauty's weight.

Her ailing father held the singular bedroom leaving her existence on the couch, she had luckily discovered outside someone's sidewalk, to find her nightly repose. Secretly, she often envied a bed of her own, but never let the selfish thought impede with her duties or love for her sickened papa.

Still, the couches lumpy kinks and spearing steel springs that bloomed up from the worn, slightly musty smelling cushions like thorns hadn't been as bad of late as they were on many nights she had known in restless slumber. Her filled stomach delivered a certain modicum of pleasantness to her uncomfortable sleeping habits. Hunger mingled with a hard sleep on an old couch had never mixed well, she knew with plenty of restless experience.

After she'd gotten the cash from Mr. Gold she had dutifully brought a sizable store of well needed groceries to fill the deserted cabinets and utterly barren shelves in the refrigerator. Though she hated working for him, the money mollified an inkling of her guilt. Contentment somewhat pulsed in her heart even though her fate to Mr. Gold still throbbed morosely like an un-mending, festering gash carved deeply in her bright soul.

She may not have liked what she had done, but the money was well needed and gratefully received.

With the funds, there wouldn't be simply cheap noodles waiting to be microwaved and medication and a half eaten can of cold beans in the old refrigerator for a long time. She'd eaten like a queen and slept a strangely satisfying, good sleep that should not have been so easy given that she knew what her life now entailed.

Still, the money was a plus, gaining her few luxuries she had long been bereft of for so long.

A drowsy groan escaped Belle's lush lips as she shifted fitfully on the broken down couch sticking into her form. Her delicate fingers searched over her slender figure to pull the gray blanket she had kicked off over her body and block out the irritating humming trilling madly through her ears. Her hand flew about blindly, pawing for the coverlet but to no avail.

Slowly, her azure eyes groggily fluttered open to the abject darkness of her apartment. In the abject darkness she could only make out a few shapes of the rusted stove and the wobbly dinner table molded out in the sheer sable shroud. Rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, a soft sigh escaped her frowning lips.

Who in the world could be calling, she pondered irately in her sleep hazed mind? Combing a hand through her dark amber tresses, she leaned up on an elbow and fought back a sleepy curse. She didn't even have a-

Even as the frustrated words came to her bleary mind, the thoughts of the day she had gone back to Mr. Gold rushed back into her head with the speed of a lightening flash striking through the dazed smog of her thoughts. Her eyes widened into blue pools of anxiousness and startling clarity as she fought the hand of repose pulling her back to dreamless slumber.

Alarm coursed through her blood, spurring her to wakefulness better than any cup of coffee could have. Hot, frightened blood thrilled wildly through her veins. Her nerves danced upon end making her entire body tingle with affright.

He was calling! After less than a week he was calling!

Jerking fully awake, the beauty fumbled desperately for the buzzing cell phone. The sleek black phone alit with a faded blue back-light shivered and jumped on the wobbly coffee table with each irritating buzz. The humming sounded akin to an impatient bee droning for her to pick up.

In her minds eyes the beauty could almost picture the gang lords face smeared with agitation as the phone rang and rang. What must he be thinking?

Fingers desperately clutching the smooth black plastic in a vice, she pulled the phone close to her eyes. Through the thickly layered darkness the shabby apartment touted, the beauty fumbled for the talk button, all the while praying the buzzing wouldn't stop.

Who knew if the phone was ringing for a second time and Gold was waiting to dole out his punishment for her missing his call?

All but stabbing the button, she slammed the phone to her ear. A slight blip echoed from the receiver, but no other noise rang out.

"Hello?" She forced her voice in a tentative whisper least she rankle her papa awake.

Her heart pounded frenziedly in her ears like the tattoo of a host of drums as she waited for his words. Why was he calling, she pondered inwardly, her blood galloping through her veins.

A bluish-white glow that flickered softly from the phone danced upon her worried features. Her face was half adumbrated against the light, the other half locked in the darkness. Anxiousness etched with alarm played upon her visage as she listened warily. A tendril of her dark amber, wild mane fell about her face, but the annoyance was lost upon her in the moment.

Had she been too late to answer?

"There is a package at the end of the 17th dock of the first wharf." The deeply accented voice of Mr. Gold informed her simply, his voice crisp and calm as usual. "Pick it up and bring the package to the 23rd street warehouse address 455. Leave now."

Clutching the phone with both hands, Belle sat upright in the voided darkness. The lumpy couch creaked loudly under her with the effort of sudden movement. Energy crackled through her body dispelling any though of disobedience or protest from the call. Her heart pounded wildly, effectively obliterating sleep from her mind as she tried to find words to speak back.

Why did he want her to do this? Why did he need her so soon?

"Hello? Mr. Gold are you there?" She called out tremulously into the speaker. "What's this all about? Mr. Gold? Mr. Gold?"

A shiver slithered down her spine as the insipid dial tone met her startled inquiry. Sitting there in the darkness she blankly listened to the crackling dial tone. Stunned and afraid, her hand holding the phone fell limply down to her thighs.

Staring into the darkness, she tried to cobble everything together. Part of her wished to huddle into a dark corner and scream there in the darkness like a scared little girl. She hadn't expected things to happen so soon. A full entire week, something so short, hadn't passed and already he wished her to grab a package in the dead of night.

But then, what choice did she have?

Fumbling her way through the utter blackness, the beauty hastily located her cloths stacked near the edge of the couch. A hint of relief seeped into her mind as her searching fingers found the course fabric of her pants laid out just in case he did call.

While she had not been expecting his phone to ring, she had been prepared. Though she absolutely detested the thought, with his threats ringing so clear in her mind, she was unwilling not to be ready for the improbable.

Slipping on a pair of beat up jeans and her shoes, she hastily donned an old black button up shirt and headed off to the door.

Expertly gliding her way through the familiar sea of blackness, she stopped once and peeked through the crack in the door to her father's bedroom. A single, shade-less lamp burned in his room, showering the chamber with harsh light.

The gray heart monitor by his bedside produced a steady red bleep that dashed across the black screen with every rickety gasp he inhaled. His wavering, lurid breath was raspy but steady and getting stronger everyday with his new medicine. Clear liquid dripped lethargically from an IV bag on the other side of him, funneling the life giving medicine into his liver-spotted arm.

Face eased from his ills and not contorted in agony, he looked tranquil and calm. His corpulent features were smooth but sallow, and growing into a healthy parlor that filled his daughter with hope.

She had too go for him, she steeled herself with the though as she tiptoed from his door. Anything for her dearest papa.

Plucking up her light jacket from a peg near the door, the beauty softly opened the portal less she awaken her father, and headed out to the docks in the middle of the night.

The world was wrapped in the tranquil darkness that came from living in small town far away from the big cities and bustling metropolises. Their sleepy world surrounded by tall pines was bereft of large neon signs blinking constantly and the sound of cars steadily making their way to clubs or restaurants.

Only the wind rustling trough the trees and a few stray dogs searching for food moved in the darkness. The world was enveloped in the forests peace that surrounded their tiny hamlet and kept them from the peering eyes of the world.

Silver stars lavishly bejeweled the onyx firmament in their wayward patterns, turning the night into a wondrous display of silver pinpricks dotted in the sky. The moon was a mere conspiratorial Cheshire smile nestled in the velvety black heavens high above the sleeping town. Looking down upon the world, the lunar slice seemed to peer upon the woman who ran to do the bidding of the gang lord.

Cool wind from the bay whispered ominously through the town as though carrying the secret of Belle's actions through the barren streets and the dismal alleyways. The breeze danced playfully through her coppery tendrils, instilling her with the salty scent of the sea.

Clutching her light black jacket tighter about her slender figure to ward off the kiss of salty wind, the beauty tucked her head low and followed the streetlamps that led to the docks.

The road was a long, black snaking path through the town and to the marina where the cannery sat next to the water along with the piers and docks. Striding the slightly wet roads briskly, her steps rang like shouts in her mind as she crept to the bay. Eyes of deep indigo looked at every direction with every step she took. Every dark corner seemed and enemy, every shadow a new foe looking to doom her.

In the gloom of darkness, her mind was awhirl with thoughts and fears that filled her laden soul with worry.

What excuse would she have if the sheriff was doing a night patrol, or heaven forbid his perceptive deputy? Tossing her head determinedly, the beauty shook the vastly unpleasant thought far from her mind. Sternly, the librarian focused on the more important matter laid out before her like a dead body.

Tremulously knocking a curling tendril of her chestnut mane from her face, she forced her gaze to the gray sidewalk. What package did Mr. Gold expect her too pick up from the wharf? Was the item more cash from some illegal source?

Her mind whirled in a tornado of considerations with every spry step. Was there even a package? Was he already setting her up and selling her out to the police for some more important agenda or impromptu gain?

Even as the cruel thoughts dashed madly through her mind, a seagull squealed angrily.

Surprised, the beauty stopped dead in her tracks. In that instant, her fearful thoughts were yanked far away from the forefront of her mind.

She felt akin to a deer caught in the head light of a tractor trailer without a way to move. Blood froze like ice in her veins and rooted her feet to the gray sidewalk. Her heart tumbled madly in her bosom as though about to break free. Fear raced manically through the beauty as the sudden noise disturbed her contemplative quietude.

Eyes wide she looked around, mind readily expecting to see swirling blue lights surrounding her.

Her mind raced madly like a fleeing doe from a hunter as she waited for the end and the cold steel to wrap about her wrists and to be thrust in the back of a brown and white cruiser. Yet nothing came.

Titling her head upward, the umber haired woman saw the looming, blue and white sign of the marina over her. Blazing lights on either end of the sign gave off enough light to see a few feet in front of her.

Restless seagulls that had nearly caused her a heart attack wheeled sleeplessly in the somber night sky while some perched at the curved top of the sign. Their shiny, beady black eyes peered down at the late night intruder as though judging her and her presence.

To Belle they seemed like judges, casting their scolding accusations upon her.

A slight laugh huffed lightly from the beauty's lips at her utter foolishness. So wrapped up was she in her fears she had nary noticed she had reached her destination. Placing the thought back in the crevices of her mind, she observed the entrance to the dock and with what little light the sign afforded her.

Not a human soul stirred the sleepy docks or their wooden piers. Boats tied to thick poles with yellow cord bobbed lazily against the docks and one another. Miniscule waves lashed softly against the boat sides and hissed as they broke over the pebbly shores. Sleepless gulls waddled about un-emptied metal trash bins for a late night snack and fat rats scurried along under the moth covered lights dotting the piers.

Besides for a machine like hum inside the cannery, nothing else showed signs of life or movement.

Relief burst wonderfully into Belle's worried thought, forcing the dire contemplations away with a stern hand. She had to stop panicking, she knew imperatively as her heart slowed from its worried tattoo. Nothing would be helped by being jittery and on edge all the time. If she was nervous she would make mistakes. A cool head was what she needed.

Embarrassed by her uncontrollably discordant display of fear, though none were around to see her panic, the beauty put a damper on her trepidation. Faint scarlet at her cowardice rose to her cheeks like a mounting fire burning away her anxiousness as she stealthily made her way into the docks.

If the whole package deal was a trap then that would be that, but she refused to be cowed by "what it's" any longer.

Stealthily, the beauty slid along the blackness that loomed over the silent port. Her feet made not a sound as she crept along the darkened corners of the docks like the rats that raced about her feet. She was akin to a shadow of some long lost sailor darting from place to place in the utter ebony.

Numbers painted on pier posts in blocky white script were the only indication that gave her direction through the long lengths of piers. 17th dock he said, and there would be a package waiting her pick up.

"Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen." Belle murmured the numbers in a nearly silent whisper as she skirted along the dark fringes. No sound flew from her lips as she came her destination of 17.

Stopping partway in the shadowy corner of a dock house, her pink lips formed the word seventeen silently. Excitement rippled through her slender figure as revealed she had made her way to the pier without incident. Curling her fingers over the corner of the dock house, she peered further out from her hiding place to view her targeted pier.

Soft yellow light from a singular lamp post over the abandoned dock alit the entrance to the pier. Large moths plinked mindlessly against the bulb, entranced by the glow. The wooden walkway was narrower than the others, indicating the pier was meant for a singular, perhaps private, boat.

Intrinsically searching the pier from afar, Belle finally saw what her employer meant for her to deliver.

In the shadows, a large black suitcase sat at the base of the light pole. The faint glint of light over the silver clasps was the only clear indication to help her find the case so far away.

Puckering her azure eyes slightly, even in the faint light she could see the old, sixties styled suitcase, bulged as though overstuffed with some cargo. The metal latches on both sides were nearly bent and a slither of wrinkled brown plastic hung out from the left edge.

Something sizable was in the suitcase, of that she was more than certain. Judging the packages length and size dubiously from afar, she could only pray the case wasn't too heavy to carry. The walk to the marina wasn't a long one, but no pleasant stroll by any means, and the walk to the warehouse was a longer than from her apartment.

Checking her left and right and even above her, as though anyone could be hanging from thin air to catch her red handed, the beauty raced out to grab the suitcase. Pain burned in her azure depths with the sudden flare of light that hung over the dock but she refused to be slowed. Now was not the time for fear, she knew bravely.

Running, she felt like one of the rats who dashed through the darkness with her, only daring to scurry out into the brightness when something too tempting was at stake to leave be. Tension strung out her nerves on end as she prepared to hear the sheriff voice or sirens, but no sound but the lapping waves assailed her ears.

Breath came faltering from her lips as she placed her hand on the leather suitcase handle. A wide smile that she cold not contained crept upon her lovely visage. Her thumb ran over the worn leather comfortingly.

Getting the package hadn't been that hard at a-

"Hey, what are you doing here!" A gruff voice suddenly barked our sharply from the other side of the docks.

Jerking her head about, the beauty paled to see three men stalking slowly in her direction. Two were burly and a foot taller than she, while the other was stocky but no less built with bulging cords of muscles.

Dark crowbars dangled from two of their hands while the shorter one was strangely bereft of any weapon. They weren't with the police she knew, even if she couldn't make out their faces, but they probably weren't with Mr. Gold either.

The sudden thought of the men being on no ones side, thawed the terror within her limbs like heat to a block of ice. Fear and panic blared through the beauty like thunder roaring for her to flee. Instinct filled her veins like fire in her numb form. She could only think of one action to engage: run.

Backing up warily from under the light of the lamp, the beauty grasped the handle of the case and raced back the way she had came. Despite what she assumed, perhaps due to adrenalin filling every crevice of her form, the package wasn't overly cumbersome.

The frightened beauty's legs pumped like motor pistons as her feet slammed heavily over the wooden docks to the exit. Her hair fluttered like a banner in a gale with each thunderous step. She couldn't let them catch her, she knew with some inner instinct, if they did she would be dead.

Spurred by the thought, the beauty forced her pace faster. Her blue eyes sat pinioned on the blackness of Storybrooke from under the marina lights. As much as she walked the streets of Storybrooke if she made it past the docks she would be alright, she knew firmly. They would never be able to catch her on the deserted roadways and back alleys she walked for so long.

Breath bellowed from her pink lips with each frightened pace. Her eyes were focused on the sign and the dark world beyond. She was almost there, almost!

Even as the thought rang through her mind, a sharp crack pierced the air. Wood splinters next to her left foot jumped up as a bullet lodged in the walk. Belle barely knew what the sound was till she saw another bullet mark freshly gouged in the dock floor. Another sharp crack rang out and she felt the bullet zip by her ear and disappear into the black distance.

Bullets whizzed past the terrified beauty in her dead run for safety. Their terrible song all sang to end her life as every sharp crack rang through the air. Miraculously, if but the terrible light or horrible aim, not one struck her.

Her heart thundered wildly in her chest as she finally exited the nearly deserted marina and into the streets of Storybrooke. Behind her she could her shouts over the sonorous whiz of bullets as they struck the metal poles of the marina sign. Gruff curses flew faintly through the air as her pursuers slackened their pace in the darkness.

They were out of their element, she knew instantly. They worked the marina, not the streets.

A faltering smile came slightly to her lips as she turned a quick corner into a narrow alleyway. The alley would have been a fair place to hide betwixt the grimy dumpsters, but she didn't dare stop running. The sleeping world went past in a mixture of black and yellows and dull reds as she ran without stop to catch her breath.

Had she truly just out run three men seeking to murder her or where they waiting in ambush? Did they have allies? The thoughts sang through her mind as she raced without pause to her destination.

Only when she found herself at the warehouse did she cease her frantic pace. Sweat slicked her slender figure, detailing the frantic race. Her clothes hung to her sticky form and bare flesh gleamed in the light about the gang lord's warehouse.

The warehouse seemed akin to a prison rather than a storage place to many in Storybrooke. There was only one warehouse in the sleepy hamlet and most of the sprawling place, everyone knew, belonged to the vicious Mr. Gold.

Serrated barbed wire topped the seven foot tall, thick fence that wound all around the property and protected the interest of the gang lord.

Rumors surrounded the warehouse nestled at the far edge of town, but nothing was ever found when surprise raids were set against the warehouse and no one was ever allowed to trespass.

Still, he had ordered her there.

Slowing her pace to a faltering stop, the beauty tentatively touched the gate. No chain wrapped about the links and the doors slid open easily with nary a creak. Dipping inside, the brown haired beauty made absolutely certain the door was how she found it lest her gun toting pursuers come sniffing about.

Arms and legs weary, she heaved the suitcase up and tucked the case under her right arm. Breathing deep, she loped about the forbidden territory to find the right warehouse compartment.

"455." Belle heavily breathed the words as she stood at the metal door.

Pulling up the garage like door, with a weary grunt, she dipped inside. A single light filled the large, dim warehouse, telling the beauty she had been expected.

"Took you long enough." The tart voice of Mr. Gold groused as she entered with her implicit cargo. A look of minor frustration carved upon his weathered visage as she appeared. His fingers drummed upon the table displaying his aggravation of having to wait.

The beast of Storybrooke sat in a foldout chair next to a long, off white table. The folding table was barren save for a gun that sat near his hand and an ancient weighing device along with a thick stack of cash. Another chair sat on the other side of the table awaiting use.

Closing the metal doors with a hard slam, the beauty carted the large suitcase to the table. Her limbs screamed tiredly in strained agony with every slow step. Adrenaline had ferried her to the destination and now that she was mildly safe pain bloomed heatedly in her body. She had ran from the marina to the warehouse with out a pause and her body was bent on telling her never to do such a foolish thing again.

Frowning, the beauty hauled herself heavily near the table. "I had a little trouble." She admitted breathlessly, her air coming in sharp intakes. Her lungs burned with every breath and her heart hammered fiercely against her chest.

"You act as though I care." He replied callously. His lips twisted into an uncaring smirk toward her plight. What should he care for her problems? She had miraculously redelivered again which was all he was happy for.

Staring at his incredible insouciance, Belle's temper snapped like dry kindling over a knee. Strength she had not known still dwelled within her seized control of her burning muscles.

Heaving the suitcase up, nearly over her head, she slammed the heavy package on the table right in front of his face. The few items on the table jumped as though startled by her fury.

Anger burned uncontrollably in her cerulean orbs, displaying her rage pent up since she had left her apartment. "I was shot at!" She screamed shrilly, her strained words reverberating off the metal.

The edges of Mr. Gold's lips twitched faintly as though he stifled a clandestine smile. "That comes with the territory I'm afraid." He heaved his shoulders in a careless shrug. Nudging his head to the wad of cash the finagling businessman stared down again to the package. "Your payment Miss French. Another 5,000 for your hard work and a bonus for the late night call."

Part of him wondered why he had not snapped at her for such disrespectful action against him. Others had done little else and face a far worse fate than an uncaring retort. She was still new, he consoled himself fitfully at the thought. Perhaps he could have a little leeway and leniency on her.

Casting the peculiar thought away from his mind, he turned the case to face him and flicked open the suitcase. Layers upon layers of carefully wrapped white substance in the form of drug bricks lay stuffed in the suitcase.

Drugs. Belle felt her flagging hearts sink into the dry dark chasm of her stomach at the sight. She had carried drugs, no doubt also noted and detailed for Mr. Gold to blackmail her with at another time. Things just kept getting worse and worse.

"You had me carrying drugs?" She spat acidly, her voice laced with blistering accusation.

Snapping on white gloves he gingerly picked up the first brick. "Half a million dollars worth to be exact Miss French."

Shocked, Belle stared at the gang lord. Did he have no sense of guilt for what he was doing? Did he have any care for the lives he was ruining in the sleepy town or how she must feel to aid him?

"You're a beast Mr. Gold, a cruel, heartless, bloody beast!" She snarled furiously to the calm business man.

Staunchly holding down her emotions in the pit of her stomach, with a firm hand, the beauty forced her head high as she went for the door. Maybe the hard walk back home would subdue her emotions and she could think of another lie to justify what she was doing.

"I didn't say you could leave." The gang lord remarked coolly.

Not willing to listen to another word, even if that meant unpleasantness later, the beauty still padded to the door. Pulling on the latch, the brown haired woman found the door wouldn't open on her behest. Silently, not willing to acknowledge her debtor again, she fumbled and fought with the door.

Steel creaked and groaned, but the metal refused to budge. Angry beyond all measure, the dispirited beauty yanked viciously. Her arms screamed in pain with every jerk of the metal latch until hot tears splashed down upon her finger tips.

Exhaustion and defeat to her new lot in life broke through her last barrier. Pain welled in her heart, filling her with cold, shriveling misery. Tears fell from her eyes in a torrent she could not contain. Rubbing at her eyes, and cursing her weakness she tried to stifle them to no avail.

How in the course of less than a week had she managed to do enough illegal mischief to get her thrown in prison for at least a decade if she cooperated fully!

Soul and body worn to near nothingness for the night, the beauty tiredly lumbered back to the table. Sliding down into the chair opposite of the notorious gangster, Belle stared down dejectedly. Her hair fell in a chestnut curtain about her features as her face looked down to the spaces in-between the neatly placed bricks unable to look at the drugs any longer or face her employer with her misery.

Brown eyes glancing up from his task, the fiend could not help but feel an inkling of something he had not felt in a long time well in him: compassion.

Shaking his head, faintly the gang lord abandoned the ludicrous thought. He dipped his head back to his task at hand as he tossed the ridiculous notion away. There was no compassion left in his soul. What he felt was probably only pity. She was a pretty little librarian who'd never done an illegal thing in her life, now forcefully thrust into the world of crime. Who wouldn't feel an inkling of pity for her?

"Oh do stop crying." He snapped angrily, the strange emotion getting the better of him. Digging into his pocket the gang lord gruffly tossed her an embroidered silk kerchief. "Here, dry your eyes. You're likely to dissolve my illicit cargo with your tears."

As though taken by some invisible hand, the square of cloth delicately landed right in front of her. Stunned by the sudden gesture from the murderous gang lord, Belle stared at the bunched up kerchief.

Gingerly, the beauty plucked up the strange token from the heart hearted Mr. Gold. The silk was a soft purple and intricately stitched with his initial of R. Gold in a corner with gold hued thread.

"F…for me…?" Her mild tone brimmed with incredulity.

Scoffing, the gang lord arranged another brick. "Not so beastly now am I?"

Picking up the kerchief she felt the soft silk. The kerchief was so lovely she almost felt guilty to wipe her eyes. "Th…thank you." She stammered.

Surprise filled her teary, azure orbs no longer overflowing with sorrow. Though his manners were coarse there was a certain, strange kindness in his abrupt offering.

Silence prevailed betwixt them like a physical wall for long moments in the eternal stream of time. Both of their tongues seemed uncertain what to say after his sudden show of pity.

"It's not that bad." The fiends spoke first, scaling the taciturn wall that separated them.

Belle slowly perched her head up to him, her brow beetled slightly. "What isn't?"

"This." He flourished a free hand through the air. "This life. It's really not all that bad once you get used to it. The pay is good with little effort. You might even enjoy this change of pace from your dull librarian existence from time to time."

Abruptly, tired laughter bubbled in a strange heartfelt chuckle from Belle's lips. The odd thought that he was trying to be comforting to her bloomed ridiculously in her mind. To think, the gang lord of the Dark One's was actually trying to console her in some brusque way!

Perching his head up suddenly, the fiend stared at the beauty as though confused of the sound. Had she been laughing at his quip…? When was the last time anyone had ever laughed at anything he said?

A small, nearly imperceptible humorous smile mingled with the remnant of melancholy replaced her tears as she leaned her elbows on the drug ridden table. A small modicum of ease towards him sparked in her heart.

"I like my dull librarian existence, thank you very much." Holding her hand politely to her mouth, she yawned widely. "And my sleep."

"You may sleep later Miss French." His voice returned to the cold callousness she'd always heard in his accented timbre. He gestured to the thick alabaster bricks with one in his hand. "Right now I must show you how to count my cargo. When I get you to pick up a package I won't always be there to count and weigh the contraband personally. I have faith that you fear me enough not to cheat me."

Belle smiled tiredly, her mind accepting the threat with not as much fear as his first's promises of unpleasant demise. Though she still remained wary, the kerchief in her grip eased the icy talons of terror clamped about her throbbing heart. Somehow the nearly insignificant gesture put a damper on her bright, flickering flame of fear and lowered the blaze of terror to a glowing ember.

He was still utterly terrifying, but a little less so in some odd way.

Leaning over the table the beauty inhaled a deep breath. She looked at the thick bricks of drugs like a new task daringly set before her to master. If this was too being her life at least she could make the best of what she did, she supposed grimly.

"Okay." Plucking up a stack she laid the black carefully on the weight. "Show me."

A thin, strange smile hinted at the gang lord's lips as leaned further over the table. Going into expert detail, he explained things to his new associate and how he liked them handled.

Absorbed in learning the new trade, Belle watched the top of the table intensely. Her mind absorbed every word drawled from his lips as he explained the weights and quality of his illegal goods.

Below the drug laden fold out table, she softly rubbed the silk of his purple kerchief thoughtlessly between the soft pads of her fingertips.


	4. The Start of Somthing More

_A/N: I re-post this chapter, because I find that I am not pleased with a bit of it after reading. But, if you liked it any who, thanks for reading and reviewing!_

**~8~8~**

"Two officers." Madame Mayor Regina Mills spat dryly at the sheriff and deputy standing rigidly before her in her office.

Glossy ruby lips twisted into a dark frown, the mayor swiveled slightly in her plush leather chair. The red leather creaked like her gritted teeth grinding to keep from spewing a litany of curses at the two incompetent officers.

The daintily black painted fingertips of her right hand drummed vapidly against her mahogany desk as she eyed the two somber faced police. "Two extremely capable officers." She echoed venomously, her voice contemptuously tart. "Two extremely capable officers who, for all their resources pooled together, could not stop 2.5 millions dollars in cash from getting into a singular bank!"

How was it that two veterans, when their expertise came to criminal business, could not thwart a single person with the load of 2.5 million dollars from waltzing into a bank? Someone, even the dullest child was bound to notice so much money being hauled into the bank all at once, to say nothing of the people who were actually supposed to look out for such amounts!

Graham flinched at her blistering tone, his composed features cracking away at her displeased bite. Shame wallowed deeply in his wolf gray eyes for utterly failing at his appointed task. "We're doing everything in our power to find out just how this happened, Madame Mayor." He soothed gently. "We will hunt them down in due time and bring them to justice."

"That's not good enough!" Retorted the mayor, her brown eyes narrowed angrily. Bringing her fist down upon the finely carved desk, she snarled at the pair. "I want this blunder fixed now!"

"It can't be fixed, Madame Mayor." Emma piped up staunchly. Blue eyes blazing, the blonde gazed back at the furious mayor with as much ferocity as the upset leader of Storybrooke radiated out. Steadiness flared from her tall figure, giving her a modicum of dreaded finality. "We don't know who brought the cash and now that the money is in the bank it is private. We have no legal access to look at those funds or know when they were deposited."

Riotous anger flared heatedly in Regina's orbs like ember from a roaring blaze. Fuming, she slumped tiredly in her chair. A hand rubbed her left temple in tiny circular motions to thwart the thunderous beat pulsating in her skull.

Emma Swann, for all her atrocious meddling and ways was correct. The money was inside now and there was no way to fix that. Once again, like all too many times, in the past they had missed an opportunity to strike at the gang lord.

Massaging her pallid brow with her delicate right hand, the mayor closed her umber orbs. A viciously throbbing head headache was already amassing behind her eyes at the latest fiasco. "They're laughing at us you know." She sighed softly and motioned her hand to the white draped window. Below her, the major outlay of the town lay neatly sprawled out like a tiny doll town all under her watchful gaze. "Everyone down there is laughing at us. For years Gold has run amok. He holds more power in the town than anyone and everyone from the dullest child to the oldest soul here knows that little fact."

For decades the gang lord had all but run the town single-handedly behind the scenes. Many knew that fact and many held the people who were supposed to protect them from such things in contemptuously low regard or outright disdain for their failures.

That fact, above any other infuriated the mayor. Nothing was to have been denied her as the sole ruler of Storybrooke, but the foul gangster in businessman's clothing was her venomous bane that seeped into her blood and boiled her scarlet ichor. She could have run the underworld properties of Storybrooke, but he held all with his iron fist that never relented.

Nothing she ever did, either legal or otherwise, was left unmarked with his signature stench of meddling or even his personal permission on it. Every time she saw him or even had his name mentioned she wished to gnash her teeth in calamitous fury. His very title brought boiling liquid fire gushing through her blood stream. High gusts of utter hatred and anger roiled like dark thunder clouds in her heart.

Though she held more power than any other in the town would ever know, still she wanted more. She wanted his power all and all and see him strapped in thick black shackles and led off to a long lonely existence in a pitch black solitary confinement cell till he was dust and yellow bones rotting in a corner.

"He won't be untouchable forever." Emma assured staunchly, her lips drawn in a thin, determined line. Taking a step forward, she glared sternly into her enemy's eyes. "Everyone makes mistakes, Regina. He's bound to slip up and when he does he'll have no lies on his tongue and nowhere to run even with all his millions."

Harsh, brutal laughter barked from Regina's carnelian lips. The hopeful thought was a ridiculous one, especially coming from her nemesis. "You've been here what Miss Swann, two months? Two months since you came rolling into town you didn't even know existed with that daisy colored bug and my runaway son in tow? I've been mayor for nearly 15 years and Gold has been here longer. In that time, in any time, I've not seen him slip up once. He never lets his defenses down, he never ceases to be cautious, he never lets another get in his way, he doesn't make mistakes. His world, his doings are impenetrable." She claimed in attestation.

At that, slowly, she swiveled her chair away from the pair. Part of her felt disgusted to even look upon them. Eyes of muddy brown peered through the gauzy curtain to the bustling outside word of Storybrooke going about happily in the sunshine.

Ponderous, she steepeled her fingers and delicately placed them under her chin. "The fact is, Miss Swann, Mr. Gold does not possess a weakness."

"That's not true, everyone has a weakness." Emma argued firmly. No one was invulnerable. For every hard facade there was always a chink, she knew well from her job as a bail bondswoman and from her own crushed heart.

Low, sordid chuckles fell haphazardly from Regina's ruby lips as she tossed the words of the deputy away. "He has no family, no friends, and no coveted possessions worth his freedom. All he cares about is his money and his vaunted power. Other than that, Mr. Gold has nothing that he neither is fond of nor cares for."

Of that the Madame Mayor knew all too well. Still, mayhap Emma was right. Maybe there had to be something, perhaps something the gang lord didn't even know he cherished.

~8~8~

Warm summer sun cascaded down merrily over the quaint, sleepy town of Storybrooke in a wave of gold. The seaside hamlet was alive with bustling, pleasant townsmen going about their allotted tasks or skipping a day of work to spend time with their families for a tasty picnic or heading to the lush, sprawling woods for a bucolic nature hike through the ancient paths.

Old timers sat on freshly painted benches watching the spryer generation walk by or doze in the pleasant sun when the rays warmth carried them aloft to slumber. Children squealed in delight and ran about the picturesque province as they played without fear that something terrible would ever happen to them.

Happiness welled highly in most hearts and all were free from the lingering shadows that cowed them from time to time. Even the town drunk Leroy was only grousing a fraction rather than his normally dark cloud of snarling grouchiness.

A soft smile traced Belle's pink lips as stopped to take in the lovely day in all its warm, radiant glory about her. Dressed in a light blue sundress that came a little past her knees, the beauty reveled in the wondrous day. Dark maple hair hung down freely to her shoulders. Soft winds swayed her dark amber tresses and the golden orbs warm rays danced happily through her mane though caught in her locks. A blue purse hung at her arm and in her right hand was a brown paper bag.

Out and about, with the world seeming so bright and glorious, she felt as happy as the town about her. Watching everyone so bubbly and cheerful nearly made her forget her worrisome ills.

Her sea blue eyes trailed a family of three holding hands as they walked across the street. Their little daughter skipped betwixt her loving parents. Both her tiny hands were clutched to one of theirs as they crossed the usually busy intersection. The proud father to the left, held a brown wicker basket into the crook of his left arm whilst the mother held a red blanket in her right.

Judging by their flip flops and the girl's brightly tiered bathing suit; they were headed to the shore for lunch and a little splashing in the surf where the ground was not so pebbly but soft white Maine sand.

A faint huff of laughter she could not contain fled from her lips as the family disappeared around a corner. Abruptly, a strange pang struck at her heart. To Belle, seeing the family headed down to the shore felt odd knowing that they would pass where last night bullets that sought to end her life had sung through the night air.

Had things been different, they could have been going to a movie in order to keep their little daughter from viewing blood spatters on the wooden piers and a dead, bloated body of the town librarian entangled in netting or caught by one of the pillars.

Standing there, watching the barren spot where the small family had lingered, Belle stood entranced. She could almost imagine herself that night if the bullets aim had struck true.

Red streaks of blood flashed angrily before her vision in vibrant streaks of crimson. Gray seaweed entangled her slimy, dark copper hair and each tendril floated in a wayward direction by the waters lapping waves. Her skin, cooled and bloated and riddled with tattered holes like a moth eaten garment and a motley gray and blue that dappled her flesh was all that remained of her as the morning cannery workers stumbled upon her caught under one of the piers.

What daylight and night could conceal was absolutely amazing, Belle contemplated thoughtfully as she shook the queasy images far from her mind. The people who dwelled in their goodly lives above the town knew not a fraction of went on beneath the dark underbelly of the quaint hamlet.

Though she was still a novice, she knew there was more, much more than met the brightly painted Storybrooke sign and the home town knitting, hunting, book, and garden clubs everyone joined one time or another.

Forcing the not wholly comfortable thought away from her mind, the beauty shouldered her blue leather purse and gripped the brown bag in her right hand tighter. A barely forced grin came to her lush lips as she trekked down a rarely used side road of Storybrooke. Wet, grayish litter filled the pot holes of the barely used street leading down to the more out-of-the-way shop of Mr. Gold. The sun lit road was deserted, even with all the people about allowing her a moment's privacy in the cluttered alleyway.

Breathing in deeply of the warm salt laden air, the beauty allowed the remnants of the unpleasant thoughts of what lay festering under the exterior of Storybrooke flee with the cool Maine breeze.

The summer's day was especially wondrous for Belle despite the guilt that gnawed in her soul from her actions or the terrible thought that plagued her so. Her sickly father had managed to walk a few steps with her aid and a cane!

The medicine that made her strike the fateful bargain with the gang lord was doing a multitude of good on her father. A healthy pink parlor banished the deathly white of his waxy skin, his brown eyes were no longer dark and baggy and bleary and racked with disorientation, but bright and twinkled with his former liveliness.

And, because of the extra money she had gotten from the gang lord, she had been able to pay the woman who checked up on her father a little extra cash, giving her a bit of free time to herself.

Whistling a merry tune to herself, the beauty felt little trepidation sting her soul as she neared the shop of Mr. Gold. Fright glimmered in a faint ember in her heart, but nothing like the raging inferno that confiscated her courage the first times she was around him.

Her indigo eyes searched the perimeter skillfully, looking for any wayward roamer who would spot her. Nothing could be gained from anyone seeing her go to Mr. Gold's. That would raise more alarms than a forest fire in mid autumn.

Satisfied, the road was deserted; the librarian clandestinely entered the shop of the gang lord. The tarnished bell over her head jangled its familiar tune as she closed the door carefully and flipped over the blue open sign to close.

"Close the curtains while you're at it, Dearie." The gang lord's voice ordered off handedly. Tinkering with a dark wooded marionette at the glass counter, he didn't bother to look up as he added. "Prying eyes and all."

Sighing, the beauty obediently flicked the dusty blinds closed. Gray particles puffed through the air and fell to the floor like soft fledglings down. Inwardly, she determined herself to clean up the mess sometime if for no other reason she hated to see things untidy.

Darkness closed in upon the dim shop, leaving a few lamps on for making out the interesting odds and ends that proliferated his establishment. Tiny slants of golden light filtered through the cracks, dappling the wooden floor with dust and tawny illumination but no more than that.

"It was such a pleasant day out." Belle remarked sadly more to herself than the fiend as her eyes adjusted to the dimness.

A grunt fell from his lips as he offered a careless shrug. "That may be so but we have other priorities than languishing in the sunshine."

"What did you call me for?" Belle inquired curiously. Anxiousness leapt tightly in her heart at the thought she had been trying to stifle since she left her shabby home. She didn't know what he wished, and that in itself caused worry to bloom over her soul. His calls never offered explanation only ordered, she knew now. Intrepidly, she had to wonder was his command something worse than picking up a 'package' for him?

Slipping from the perch of his bench, the fiend grabbed his golden, hawk beaked cane curled over the edge of the counter. "A bit of money laundering Miss French. Nothing to dastardly and mostly safe. Well, as much as the word safe goes in this line of business."

Turning, the gang lord pulled back the beaded veil to the other part of his shop ducked into the back room. Without a hint of trepidation, Belle followed his lead to the belly of his business.

Mostly everything looked normal to Belle's eyes as she crossed the forbidden territory behind the veil of dark beads. Dull gray boxes sat upon every ounce of shelf in the narrow corridor of the back. Pieces of old dolls and trinkets and lamps and maps poked out from the tops and the uncovered containers.

A heavy layer of dust lay thickly upon every free inch of space. Her nose wrinkled in itchy distaste at the mass of dust and grime. How long had it been since he'd really kept up the pretense of a shop, Belle wondered as she trailed close behind.

"Here we are, Miss French." The gang lord remarked simply as he came to another room lodged deeply in the belly of the shop.

The door was a thick gray slab of steel that looked wholly different from the rest of his home town establishment. Numbers blinked of the security pad built in next to the door to keep the safe-like portal locked from prying eyes. Steel comprised the handle, but a bright warning sticker for electric shock sat right above the latch. Banks used such doors for their vaults and here one sat in the back of his pawn shop.

Gingerly tapping in the code on the pad, a sharp beep echoed from the pad and the door opened.

As the gang lord dipped inside the dim confines, Belle followed.

The room was a simple affair as with most things with the notorious Mr. Gold, Belle was finding out. One light swung above in the windowless confines, giving light to the thickly padded room. A dense oaken table topped with cash sat in the center of the room and two metal chairs were on either side of the table.

Limping to the wide table, the gang lord brought forth a briefcase from under the furniture as he slowly slid down. "See, not so bad." The fiend flicked open the case. "Just a drop off of money."

"Isn't having the money here dangerous?" Belle intoned curiously to the gang lord. Shutting the door behind her, she padded to the table heaped with bundles of bills that had yet to be made into stacks.

A slight chuckle eased from his lips as he began to stack the bills and put a thin white band about the cash to keep them together. "This is the last place anyone would look. To think, the most feared man in Storybrooke keeping his money in the back of his shop like some sub par criminal underling."

"Smart." Belle admitted quietly with a nod. A sour taste bloomed on the tip of her tongue at the thought of being caught so easily if the sheriff decided to break the door down. If he found them both there then there was no trial that could get them off.

Tenaciously swallowing the thick bile of the unpleasant thought back to the pit of her stomach she forced her fear away. Mr. Gold, for all his danger had been a criminal longer than anyone had remembered. Certainly he knew his business.

Hauling a metal chair to the other side of the thick table, she leaned over to gaze at the crisp bills. Each was ironed finely, and ready to be stacked. Fifty thousand, she surmised off the top of her head, perhaps more.

"You'll be dropping this off at the wharf again, same pier." The gang lord explained busily.

Trepidation formed a hard icy knot in the pit of Belle stomach at his drawled words. Simmering down her fear, she smiled wanly. "Alright. Will I be waiting for anyone?"

"Not yet." He tossed her head causing his straggly brown hair to shake. "You've not come that far to dally with others Miss French." With a small tilt of his head he pointed to a bundle of cash in need of counting and packing. "Now if you would be so kind as to help. I didn't ask you here for company's sakes. I do expect you to do something other than watch me."

Fire bloomed heatedly in Belle's cheeks with his wry scolding. Dipping her head slightly she fought to hide the rose blush painted upon her cheeks. "Of course." Abruptly, she snapped her fingers as though recalling an important detail. "Oh I forgot." Rummaging by her side she brought forth the crumpled brown bag she had carried.

Tendrils of gray steam wove from the top, filling the safe room with the delectable scent of melted cheese and cooked beef.

"I brought some lunch over from Granny's." She dug into the bag. Bounty in tow, she held out a plastic takeout box and a wrapper. "You want lasagna or a burger?"

Stunned, the gang lord inclined his head up for the first time. Shock etched his weather worn features at the simple offer. His maple brown eyes glimmered with the rare novelty of confusion she wrought in him. "You brought _me _lunch?" He queried, his tone heavy with incredulity and abject surprise.

When had been the last time he'd done a simple thing such as eaten with another? People did not normally wish to have lunch meetings with a notions gangster, much less in a public setting where everyone could mark their faces and who they were.

Though no restaurant would dare bar him from entry when he had the inclination to dine out, he knew pointedly; he was not welcomed to their booths. The entire truth was that they served him in fear alone. Even the spirited Granny, filled with elderly no-nonsense gumption dared not to give him the cold shoulder at her diner.

Still, they never served him with any sort of emotion save full fledged fear. Most of him was concerned, when he dared dine out, they spat in his food and drink out of sheer, unadulterated hatred of him and all he did.

"I didn't do anything to the food." Belle swore nervously, mistaking his dubiousness for betrayal on her part. Fear clenched her gut with a serrated vice even at the terrible thought. What would he do to her if he suspected her trying to assassinate him with a poisoned lunch or finely crunched up glass mixed in?

Forcing his numb surprise away, the fiend blinked rapidly. "It's not that, Miss French. I have no doubt you'd ever be so foolish to attempt such a brazen assassination." A small hint of amazed laughter fell from his half smiling lips at a sudden thought. "The fact is, I don't remember the last time I had lunch with anyone." He admitted freely before he could clamp the words down in his cold heart.

Pity surged through Belle at the sad thought of being so alone. Never, she realized suddenly, had she seen the cruel and cold Mr. Gold be with anyone for a long amount of time. He spoke a few words to people that owed him money and to his associates but little else. Even their interactions were mostly short, terse bursts of conversation.

He walked the streets of Storybrooke alone, and lived in his huge manse bereft of another living soul. He could not even recall the last time someone had even shared a simple luncheon.

"Well now you do." She claimed and smiled a nearly warm grin. "Pushing the plastic container to him and a white fork the beauty held back a laugh. "I hope you like lasagna. Granny's is the best."

Uncertainly plucking up the plastic fork as though the utensil was a serpent prepared to come to life and bite him, the fiend opened the lid to the lasagna. The aromatic fragrances of oregano and gooey cheese mingled with the thought she had considered him, provoked a strange pang in his heart.

He had ignored the odd thud a first time when she cried for her lot as a criminal, but the thump was a bit more prominent than before.

Still, he brushed the thought away with barely an inkling of consideration. Her offering, he supposed coldly, was a kind gesture born of a willing to get in good with him, nothing more. But, that did not mean he could not enjoy a free, hopefully spit-less meal.

A faint grin hinted at his thin lips as he dug into his warm lasagna and she her burger. The food was delicious, compared to the food he made himself. While he wasn't bad, Granny's was indeed the best around.

There was a strange, silent camaraderie to their small feast as they ate with one another in the back of his shop. Though they spoke no words, an understanding and realization of some sorts bloomed inside them like flowering peeping up after a long winter. The lonely librarian and the lone gang lord were keeping one another company.

Wiping a hand on a napkin, the taciturn fiend once more began to bunch wads of money together. Burger down on the white wrapper her meal had came in, Belle studiously followed his lead.

In the quiet, gang lord and debtor sat eating lunch and counting out hundred of illegal dollars in thick piles in-between bites of the first lunch shared together.

**~8~8~**

_A/N: I hope there aren't too many mistakes in this chapter. A cold has hit me upside the head, so I didn't go over this part with a fine tooth comb as well as I'd have liked. Whelp, now that it's up, back to bed.  
_


	5. Hit-man

_A/N: This one is up a little late, and as some of you know I don't usually put anything up on the weekends, so no updates till Monday. T.T Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing!_

_Also, I leveled up from my cold now with brand spankin' new ear infection -.-. So again, this chapter might not be good.  
_

**~8~8~**

Thick flotillas of dark clouds lumbered heavily over the glistening grayish, hazy horizon along the outskirts of Storybrooke bay. The sky was akin to an ugly patchwork quilt blanketed over the heavens. Ill weather brooded darkly over the quaint marina of Storybrooke, like an unstoppable army slowly amassing to wash over the small town.

The descending sun was a bleary blot of blinding red lingering sullenly on the rim of the salty main in the last light of day. Slants of crimson rays colored the nearest clouds a dull rusted hued as the brilliant scarlet globule sank into the crystalline depths behind the curtains of mottled clouds.

From a clandestine hideaway tucked into a weed choked corner, Belle watched the hasty happenings among the docks. Lodged behind a rusty panel half draped with old netting that clung tightly to the deteriorating metal, the beauty was more than safe from eyes that passed by without so much as thinking someone hid behind the ancient tin.

Choppy green and blue waves lapped tersely against the sporting and fishing vessels lodged in port. A wary wind, foretelling the massive summer squall's approach, slipped betwixt the barren masts of the sailboats docked at the port. Boats knocked and bobbed about crazily like toy vessels in a flailing child's bath water. Bells aboard the bobbing ships clanged ominously in the errant wind and shrieking sea gulls flocked the awnings under the docks and piers for safety from the approaching gale.

Frothy foam angrily crashed ashore and pulled away like deathly white fingers that dragged their clawed talons over the pebbly gray beach. The waters glimmered in the last rays of day with an ominous twinkle of red that tinged the waters like the bubbling swells of hell.

Almost everything that did not hold weight was plucked up by the greedy fingers of the approaching storm. Fierce winds snapped up frayed, loose cords on the thick tarps and billowed them about like a whip lash angrily striking at any passerby. Empty brown boxes went tumbling down the length of the docks until caught upon a snag of flung wildly out into the bay and swirled away by the angry waves.

The last few remaining workers at the cannery hastily made certain all was fair at their stations before running to their cars to get to their homes and away from the storms rage rumbling on the biting wind.

To Belle, the cool wind and the lash of fury tingling on the skin for the a coming storm was wonderful to her senses. Goosebumps thrilled against her milky flesh and sent a rush of illegal delight coursing through her veins.

Looking at the piers, the beauty felt sheer warming relief stir inside her figure. No one wished to be about when a Maine storm hit the bay be they criminal of good honest folk as she had once been. The squalls were fierce beasts riding upon the wailing gale winds and destroying everything their gnashing fangs and serrated claws could reach. Already in town, shops were clapped closed and the streets were barren to wait out the gale.

After the last person left, getting the money to the dock would be an easily achieved feat, the beauty knew happily. And hopefully the men who had shot at her would think ill of the weather and not return to end her life a second time.

Fear hurtled hotly like a blazing comet through her bones at the thought of the three assailants from the night before. The deafening shots from the gun and the spray of wood splinters hanging to her cloths as she ran for her life still felt as though they had all happened a few seconds ago.

Gold had not been practically concerned when she told of her near death escape. He seemed as though being the target of murderous thugs was the most natural thing in the world. But then, why would he care about one easily disposed criminal who had not wished to undertake any illegal doings in the first place? Her uses were not many to him, nor much in high demand. He probably wouldn't even blink should he hear of her demise.

Frowning at the thought of her worthlessness to him, the beauty placed her hand on the briefcase filled with money by her side. Her delicate fingers roved over the dark leather contemplatively as she waited for the last soul to depart.

Staring at the blurring bustling bodies rushing along the docks, her mind wandered far from the death that could have been, and towards the man that ordered her to pick up his package and pack money away in the briefcase.

Stacking money with the gang lord had been…refreshing, she had to admit to herself, if begrudgingly. She hadn't spent quiet time with another in eons. Tending to her father had eradicated any social life she had possessed before he grew ill with his lungs and stupor.

Her first and only boyfriend, way back before her father had fallen ill and when her life was a shining opportunity, was less than engaging to her quieter tastes. Guy had only wanted to tout her around to his drinking buddies like some trophy to be envied while they had gone together. Life of the party Guy Stone didn't like quiet unless he was hunting.

On the other hand, Gold entertained with just a few words mingled and a well aimed quip now and again.

For what little they spoke, Mr. Gold had been an engaging, highly intelligent man whose mannerism went hand and hand with his criminal doings and along with a rough gentlemanliness he possessed under his danger.

Abruptly a small, indulgent smile tipped at Belle pink lips at the thought. Past his murderous gang lord infamy he was almost… interesting. But no amount of interesting could surpass he was blackmailing her for his own ends and still would not hesitate to turn her into a sacrificial lamb when the moment, if ever, was needed to fuel his purposes.

As intelligent and witty as he was, he was still a murderous gang lord and still held her fate and that of her dearest papa's over her head like a sharp edged sword precariously dangling betwixt his fingertips.

She had to remember that fact, Belle scolded herself roundly, but lately the thought was getting harder and harder to keep the enmity aloft.

Angry thunder rumbled darkly across the slate gray sky carrying the thoughts of the dangerous Mr. Gold far her mind with the screaming of the wind. Boots slapped wetly pass her as the last worker stomped off toward his pickup in the deserted lot. Sailor worn hands far above his head, the dock worker raced away, leaving the docks deserted from a soul.

Icy droplets of ashen rain dribbled down from the somber heavens just as he drove away. A millions tiny ripples dotted the seas and the rising waves as the rain viciously poured down in a fierce deluge. In moments the quiet world was replaced by the screaming winds of the gale in all the storms fury.

Frothy, alabaster foam tipped waves crashed and sloshed heavily over the docks their tips brushing against the shops that sat on the waters edge. Surf sluiced and swirled over the piers making them disappear before relenting to show their wet timber. Tongues of blinding sterling hued lighting ran behind the clouds and broke through the charcoal gray veil to dance upon the rim of the ashen horizon. Wind wailed mournfully through the cracks and crevices of old wood and forced the furious gale onward.

Steeling herself staunchly against the rage of the storm, Belle stepped out of her hiding place. Money against her chest and slender arms clutched tightly about the black briefcase, the beauty tucked her head down to the screaming squall.

The angry wind's invisible hands grasped greedily at her clothes, but the chill rain plastered her garments to her slender form to stay in a fierce tug of war against wind and rain.

Staggering, the beauty fought to put one foot in front of the other. Even though the distance to her destination was a short one, the wind was akin to a wall erected to blockade her goal. Buckets of rain blinded the first few feet in front of her making sight nearly an impossibly in the torrents of gray.

Her eyes narrowed into tiny slit against the stinging rain pelting her from all sides, giving her only a faint way to see in the deluge. Strands of her dark amber mane whipped in a stinging lash across her face as she plowed onward.

On the bright side, she noted grimly as she fought to keep balance, no one was sure to be out in such horrid weather.

Hand up to shield her eyes from the stinging flays of rain, the beauty plunged forward blindly. Gritting her teeth, she leaned into the wind with one hand out to mark where the pole to the 17th pier was.

Walking blindly, she only hoped that the wind had not moved her too much from her objective. A little too far lost in the gale and she might go careening over the docks and into the churning waters rage. Who knew if she would be dashed upon the rocks under the piers or perhaps pulled out into the depths of the bay by the waters murderous hands.

A shiver of terror crawled down her spine at the thought of being crashed against the pillars that upheld the piers or being dashed upon any rocks. Stoically banishing the thoughts, the beauty plodded onwards.

Even as the thought crashed against her mind like the large waves against the docks, in her mind, the cold number of a steel 7 of the 17th pier met her touch. The cool slick metal was light a beacon in the darkness. Kneeling down thankfully, the beauty tied the handle of the briefcase to the pier with a coil that was wrapped about that base of the pole.

Praying frantically under her breath, she hoped the money case wouldn't somehow snap off the rope and fly off into the ocean or worse open and scatter wet bills in every direction or plaster them to the buildings and boats.

Tightening the cord about the latch to the brief case with one final tug, the beauty gripped the pole. Her fingers dug deep into the rain wetted wood as she vapidly hauled herself up. Cold rain soaked into her clothes and chilled her too the bones, but the thought of success warmed her in the pit of her belly.

Rising unsteadily, a small smile came to her lips. Flicking a limp strand of hair from her brow, the beauty reveled in her achievement. The storm had been just what she needed to make sure another terrible night like the last would not occur.

Just as the thought bloomed in her mind, something cold, colder than the rain itself, rested lightly against the flesh of the back of her neck. Frigid, paralyzing fear oozed lethargically through the beauty with the force of a tidal wave over her form. The cool feel of metal was the barrel of a gun, she discerned immediately.

"What an oddity." A smooth male voice from behind yelled out over the din of the gale. "A woman comes to the end of a privately owned pier with a briefcase and in the middle of a storm? A curious thing indeed."

Even though the screeching wind made normal talk an utter impossibility, Belle could not help but feel the man's words cool and low and assured ghosting warmly against the back of her neck.

Grasping the back of her dress, he pushed her forward a few paces to the edge of the swirling waters. Gun digging into her neck, the unknown killer leaned her over to the treacherous waters.

Frothy water churned and boiled perilously only feet away from her features. If his hand let go she would drop like a stone into the raging cauldron of ill tempered waters.

"Who sent you here? Who do you work for?" He inquired, his silky voice wafting almost leisurely through the gale.

Rain coursing down her face and sopping her hair, Belle kept her lips shut in a vice. Her brave heart thudded madly in her chest like a frenzied hummingbird looking for escape into the wind as she stood being accosted by the unknown gunman. A lie tried to steal past her lips but her throat was as dry as desert sand.

A chuckle seeped from the mysterious mans lips. "Nothing to say? Well, I think the boss will have a few more words than you."

Pulling her back to relative safety by the nape of her dress, the gun pressed closer to her neck in silent warning. Should she make a false move for freedom he was more than willing to let her die and toss her out into the squall querulous waters.

Controlled by the hand of gunman the beauty had no choice but to be led away down the pier. The fat droplets of rain slackened some as they walked, but not much to see very clearly or enough to attempt escape from her captor.

Eyes puckered through the veil of wet, in the gray distance, the brown haired beauty could make out the signs of a black car parked near the marina sign. Dark disparity sank deeply into the librarians brave heart as she lumbered along the slick dock with the gun at her neck.

What was he to do with her?

As they neared the car, the gunman stopped her. Rummaging through his pockets for the keys, he hummed happily to himself as though he had come from a pleasant day sailing the pristine bay.

Even though he was behind her, she could feel his wide grin snake upon his features. "In the trunk you go!" He claimed as he clicked a button.

By command of the key the trunk door slowly yawned open revealing a barren space big enough for a well sized body to be crammed inside alive or dead. Heavy scents of bleach and plastic wafted noxiously from the dark compartment, chilling Belle's heart with the odorous scent.

The trunk had been used to carry others in her fatal situation, the beauty knew imperatively. She was just another victim to be stuffed in the back of the vehicle to ride to her death.

Pushing her into the back, the beauty had no choice but to comply to the press of the gun. Legs first, she scurried into the back. Forced belly down, the beauty struggled into the trunk of the car.

Bravely, she attempted to turn around, but the gunman was far to clever for such novices devices. Only scraps of a long gray trench coat flashed in the corner of her eyes as she was fully in the trunk.

Gray rain lashed clouded her features as the trunk top came down. Darkness enclosed the beauty like a coffins bleak blackness. Terrified, the beauty pounded away at the trunk top. Her feet struck and her tremulously quaking fist punched at the top frantically for escape. She was going to die, she knew terribly wit each jolt for freedom, and there was no way of escape.

Breath caught in her throat, the librarian listened warily to the outside world. As the vehicle rumbled to life under her, Belle closed her eyes tightly in a vice. No one knew where she was besides for Mr. Gold and no one could here her from the back of the trunk. Fighting back tears of panic, she prayed when the end did come the blow would be a quick, painless one.

For what seemed like an eternity, the gunman drove the streets of Storybrooke. Though probably only ten minuets, Belle felt as though a lifetime had passed her by in the back of the black car. Each intrepid heartbeat was a year and each thought a thick morass that held back the clock.

Abruptly, though far to soon for the beauty's liking, the car stopped. The rain was strangely only a dull patter in Belle's ear but still going strong. Bracing herself for a fight, the beauty flinched as bright light met her dark accustomed eyes. In the brief moment of blindness, the rough hand of the gun man shot through the blinding light like a black gloved hand sent from heaven to smite her.

Grabbing hold of her sodden clothing by the shoulder he hauled her roughly out of the car and into the dull grayness of an underpass. Cool air and the blistering heat of fear made her quiver in the filthy dimness.

Standing there, Belle finally got a good look at her abductors features. Black eyes met her blue orbs with a mischievously crazed glint in their ebony depths. His chin was clean shaven, but the scruff around the neck was haphazardly cut as though he feared a razor near his pulsing jugular. A fleshy, upraised scar like a piece of rope under his skin wound about his neck. His clothes were odd but fine and he wore a velvet top hat snugly over a thatch of oily dark hair.

Glancing about at her surroundings, the beauty tried to figure out where she was in case she did find a way of escape from her captor. High, gray waters brooked through a rocky rivulet that no doubt lead to the bay. Lush green forest and tall dark surrounded them on all sides, enclosing her from the world and all help and aid from decent folk.

The dull white stone of a bridge loomed over them, keeping the cold rain at bay. The thick tangled forest brush mingled with the surreptitious parking close under the bridges awning left the car and driver practically invisible to peering eyes. Moist yellowish sandy soil and limpid grass lay crushed about her feet and heaped with tire tracks, telling the place was used often.

"You didn't have to bring her here in the trunk of a car, Jefferson." The all too familiar voice of Mr. Gold scolded the young man disapprovingly.

A crazed smile broke upon the gunman's visage. "A little fun never killed anyone, boss. Besides, I wanted to see her grit. Didn't open her mouth once to sell you out. She won't betray you, not this one."

Shocked, Belle stared from the gunman to the finely attired gang lord limping from his black car on the opposite of the one she had just crawled out of. Her mind whirled crazily after thinking she was a dead woman in the hands of a rival gang.

"Mr. Gold…?" She stammered to the businessman. Confusion filled her brilliant mind as she looked back to the gunman in a new light. The world didn't seem to make sense anymore. "I don't understand. How…why?"

Stopping not far from the gunman, the gang lord placed his cane in front of him like a knights sword to the earth. His black gloved hands clasped on the gold handles in his usual fashion, he flashed a dry smirk to the beauty. "I told you weren't ready to meet my other permanent associates, but he felt the time had come." The gang lord flickered an irked glare to the still smiling gunman. "Miss French allow me to introduce Jefferson, my hit man."

"A pleasure, Miss French." The gunman bowed flamboyantly. Holding her right hand he puckered his lips to kiss her in a most gentlemanly fashion.

Incensed Belle jerked her hand away. Her eyes flickered to the scowling gang lord in utter confusion. "He works for you?" The words spat out accusingly. The man had nearly made her go into the throes of a heart attack, and he worked for the gang lord of the Dark One's all along!

"Of course." Gold nodded tersely, his lips thin and taunt. Rolling his eyes, a small huff to escape his lips. "You think I wouldn't commission the only good hit man in town for my deeds? No. He's under my thumb as well."

Jefferson smiled madly at the startled beauty. "Oh yes, the notorious Mr. R Gold owns me as well. He keeps me from the nasty white walls of the insane asylum."

"You fail to mention the mansion I brought you." Gold grumbled nastily.

The gun man smirked. "For all my hard work eliminating any rivals." He explained lightly. Turning to Belle once more, he quirked his head to the side as though she were a foreign novelty to his senses. "I can't believe he finally got another. Well, another that isn't dead yet. Seems like years since we had another so deep in the fold of the Dark One's. You're lucky." Swiveling his head back to the gang lord he pointed to her and barked a slight laugh. "Gold, you've got a lucky one."

"I don't need luck, Jefferson." The gang lord snarled contemptuously. "And that will be all the meddling I can stand for the day thank you. You can leave."

Bowing curtly the hatter, grinned. "Always a pleasure boss."

Jumping back into his car, the mad man was gone from the private rendezvous of death.

Breathless, Belle leaned against the cool wet stone surface of the bridge. Relief crackled through her flesh like lightening shivering through her form, and tempered the beat of her frenzied heart. Her knees violently trembled of their own accord nearly unable to support her.

Heart aflutter she wiped the cool water from her brow. "I can see why you didn't want me to meet any of them just yet."

"Don't worry about Jefferson." A crooked grin donned the gang lords lips. "He's only a little mad."

Tremulously shaking her head the beauty shivered. The coolness of the shadowed bridge mingled with the water set her body in a chill. Shivering violently, she clamped her arms about herself for warmth as she stamped her feet to get the flow of blood back down to her numb legs. Her mind was near bursting with inquiry. "How did he find out about me? What was he at the docks for?" She queried, her teeth chattering with every word.

"I wanted to make certain you didn't have anymore trouble." Gold shrugged carelessly as though the words had no meaning.

A hint of a surprised smile traced Belle lips at his admission. So he had tried to make sure she wouldn't be shot at again. Perhaps he had paid more attention that he let on. Perhaps, he did find some use to make certain she stayed alive.

"Thank you." She grinned wanly, her heart truly thankful though she could not place the exact reason.

Steeling himself from her words he frowned darkly. "Don't thank me. If I can use you as bait to draw out an inkling of competition I will."

Stunned but not wholly surprised of the sudden cold wall he built up betwixt them, Belle felt her heart flag in fatigue. Rubbing the back of her hand across her nose, she sniffled in the uncomfortable cold. Her only clothing was a faded black and red checkered dress. She hadn't planned for the rain or getting kidnapped by the hit man.

Large ripples of guilt pooled in the dark ones soul at her pitiable condition. The rain was still coming down and either she walked home in the rain, daring to not catch cold, or waited until the rain slackened. At then though, he knew, the world would be dark and she would find herself walking through the woods at night.

Part of him, the cruel darkness lurking in his soul, warned himself to leave her. Already, he showed her too much favor, sending his top assassin to watch over her like a guardian angel. Normally he didn't care what happened to those he wrangled into his employ, but she was… she was….

Curse Jefferson and his mad meddling!

A dark frown perched upon the fiend's lips at the thought. In truth, he wasn't certain what she was. Perhaps Jefferson in all his madness was corrected. Perhaps she was just lucky to him like a strange talisman.

Shaking his head, the gang lord opened the passenger car door. "Since Jefferson so rudely abandoned you here, I'll give you a ride to town. From there you're on your own."

Shocked by the kind offer, Belle stared at the gang lord. Confusion swirled in her heart like a whirlpool. This was the second time he dared be kind to her.

"Well don't stand around." The fiend snapped, his voice gruff to save face for his obvious kindness.

Not daring to speak a word of thanks less he change his mind, Belle padded numbly towards the sleek black sedan. Gratefulness flashed in her azure eyes to him as she slid down in the warm leather seats. The warmth was like a blanket wrapping about her with the comfort that she was truly safe. Abruptly, the car door slammed shut, banishing the sudden flare of gentleness she felt stir for him. Hands clasped about her, she trembled as warmth from the heater stole back easily into her nearly numbed body.

Taciturn, the gang lord slid into the driver's seat. Putting his cane in the back, he put the already humming engine in drive and sped away. The moist grit under the wheels crunched as he drove from under the toll bridge where he did his dirty work and back to the town he held under his heel.

Neither made a sound as the businessman maneuvered the wet streets. His car seemed akin to a wolf prowling the roads and all who knew had locked their doors.

The roads were barren slabs of onyx water without hint of another soul on the highways. Gray sidewalks were bereft of happy townsmen who could see the car of Mr. Gold and even if people did spy the car, the windowed were tinted an impenetrable black. A few trees were down and lights were spotted out, telling of a new day of clean up tomorrow as the pair made their way back into the town proper.

Stopping near a red bus stop awning, the gang lord parked.

Silently, Belle opened the door to leap under the protection of the shade. She wasn't far away from home and even if the rain did not slacken she wouldn't get any wetter than what she was.

Sniffling, Belle smiled warmly at the businessman. "Thank you." She muttered weakly as she began to dip out of the cars warm confines.

"Wait, Miss French." The gang lord grabbed her gently.

Electricity tingled through his hand at the cool touch of her skin. Her eyes were like blue silk caressing him as she stared back. For a moment he stared entranced at her, his mind lost in the pools of the eternal flame in her azure depths.

Finding his wits once more, the fiend snapped away his hand as though she were conjured of flame. Turning his gaze away he focused on the wet road in front of him. "Your pay is in the glove compartment." He revealed quietly.

"Thanks…." Belle tenuously sat down again. Deftly opening the glove compartment, the beauty fished out the crisp wad of bills he had saved from the brief case. Hugging the money close, the beauty felt for the first time not an inkling of guilt stab at her heart for her illegal pay.

Of course she did not like what she was doing, but all too readily she was fining herself more accustomed to drop offs and pick ups and the fierce Mr. Gold.

Stepping out of the car, Belle let the chill wind steal the modicum of heat she had gathered. As she closed the door, her heart was moved for the gang lord. A dark frown tugged at the fringes of his lips as though he was lost in deep, disturbing meditation. His maple brown eyes seemed unplumbed fathoms of sadness unknown to any.

After he had touched her, for that one moment, he now seemed so lonely and cold even donned in his fine suits and nestled in his luxury car. Though he was a criminal, he seemed in very much need of contact that did not involve threats or murder. He seemed like, he needed a companion.

"Lunch tomorrow then?" Belle inquired before she knew what she was saying to the most notorious man in all of Storybrooke.

Surprised, the gang lord twisted his head to hers. "I don't have a job for you, Miss French." The fiend explained as though she did not know.

"I know, but how about I just bring you lunch." The charming beauty offered with a smile, her words friendly. "I'd make sure none saw me." She promised quickly. So far one of her biggest advantages was that other criminals or police had no clue who Gold's new lackey was.

Something was wrong here, Gold knew even as the words left her full mouth. Why would anyone be amiable to him with no particular reason in mind? Why would anyone wish to spend time with a gang lord. What was her game?

Smiling thinly, he nodded. "If you like, Miss French."

"Enough with this, 'Miss French' business." Belle laughed suddenly, her merriment light. "You can call me Belle."

Humor involuntarily swelled in the gang lord. "A gentleman is never so forthright." He parried jestingly.

A genuine smile brightened upon her pink lips as she stood straight and closed the door.

Driving off, the gang lord could not help but look in his rear view mirror to the beauty huddled under the red awning. She was waving at him, actually waving good bye to him.

Something was very amiss, he surmised grimly as he turned down a lane to his shop. She smiled, she waved, she laughed, she held no hate in those deep blue orbs that saw past his weather visage.

Yes something was truly wrong, but if the problem was with him or her he could not discern. Not yet.


	6. Where Loyalties Lie

_A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing lovelies! School starts up in a few days so be prepared for (perhaps) longer waits for updates!_

**~8~8~**

Seasons wax and season wane in the eternal, lengthy cycle of time revolving in endless repetition. So too do lives move on though unsteady they might be in the venture.

Summers glorious thralldom upon the world was waning fast into the crisp clutches of early autumn as meetings with the gang lord and his newest smuggler slowly evolved. No longer did the golden sun blaze down with a fiery wrath, but more an aloof, friendly regard. The cool salt breezes held a faint icy nip aloft on their whispering zephyrs. The thick plumed leaves were slowly transmuting into a burnished gold and bold russet and vibrant yellows that floated softly from their perches amongst the trees. Barren and thinned limbs struck out from the oaks and beeches and ashes that one offered merciful shade from the summer's tormenting heat. Soon the northern cold would settle in and summer would be but a wishful dream left upon the chill air.

After the interaction with the notorious gang lord at the bus stop, things slowly progressed to a normal flow betwixt the pair. In the hottest apex of the year, the next few short weeks of summer drawled by lazily for the oft solitary gang lord and the lonely librarian who came under his criminal command.

Not a week went by that gang lord and debtor did not meet in the dim confines of his rarely occupied shop. Their interactions were almost normal and each meeting held at least one smile and one quip in betwixt their discussions of underhanded activity and the little normalcy their deplorable profession graciously granted them.

Through all their talks and instructions and doings, worry wormed deeper and deeper into the gang lords sordid black heart. With every meeting the fact that something wasn't quite right twisted tighter in his gut with warning.

Something had to be terribly amiss with his new pretty runner under his thrall. Belle was so utterly different from the beer stained, low life, filthy scum he usually allied himself with for profit. She was so pleasant to him for no explicable reason. She smiled where others would scowl and stared kindly when others would turn away and curse him behind his back. She knew what he was and did not hate him for his doings. Certainly she did not approve their doings, hers more than his perhaps, but hate was the farthest thing from her bright cobalt orbs when she stared into his cruel brown eyes.

Many dark nights he paced in his big lonely pink home, his mind enchanted and troubled with odd thoughts of her all mingled into one over boiling cauldron. Strange thoughts of his lucky smuggler assailed his mind from all possible directions. She was like no other and that thought alone sent crackling pangs of anxiousness and suspicion thrilling through his sinewy form.

Was she a last ditch special agent set up from the police that fortuitously slipped passed his normally impenetrable guard? Perhaps she was an expert informant craftily stealing her way deeper into his criminal underworld by rising in the clandestine ranks and gaining his trust with her soft smiles and merry laughter that warmed his shriveled husk of a heart into a semblance of fondness for her.

But then, if she truly were a spy to infiltrate his kingdom, where was the wire tapped on her skin? Where were her reports neatly stacked in manila envelopes when he had her followed by Jefferson? Where were her partners funneling the information to be stacked against him bit by accusing bit in court? She rarely spoke to anyone and those she did had nothing in common with the police.

An intense enigma enshrouded the beauty and he could not filter through the thick mist mantled over her no matter how hard he peered into the fog to figure her out.

Though he liked her company he couldn't bring himself to trust her, not all the way. In his experience, too many strange anomalies happening at once were never a truly good thing in his line of work. Too many odd happenings usually meant someone's tragic downfall.

If she wasn't in with the sheriff then what was her game, he pondered worriedly every time he watched her leave his shop. And how could he find out?

~8~8~

"Good evening Mr. Gold." Belle chirped cheerfully as she traipsed into his dim shop in the dusky, late afternoon of early autumn.

A chill wind sneakily swept in with the beauty as though she floated upon the cool currents all the way to his establishment. Her movements were always so delicately graceful; the thought of her hovering with her feet barely touching the sidewalk seemed a real possibility to the gang lord's senses.

Per usual, the beauty gingerly turned the open sign to close and flicked the dusty blinds down, though there truly was no need for such actions save for Gold's desire for over caution in all that he did. None ever dared blatantly roam his domain or be in his presence without truly being desperate. And even if they saw something they'd never dare speak of it. Many people even tried not to pass by his establishment if they could help themselves.

Eagerness, the gang lord could not contain even against his rankled suspicion, bloomed brightly in the depths of his oily black heart at her presence. A thin smile traced his lips as he smoothly limped behind the glass counter. "Miss French." He curtly dipped his head in polite acknowledgement.

Peeling off her light blue sweater to thwart the chill of autumns welcomed return, the beauty placed the newly bought piece of clothing on a barren coat rack peg.

The checkered blue dress once hidden under the nice jacket fit lovely upon her frame, the gang lord could not help but notice. In fact, more and more he was noticing little things about her that she did not even seem to realize about herself.

"Are we going into the back?" The umber haired beauty inquired as she padded towards the counter sprightly.

The fiend tossed his head. "Not today." He replied softly. A ghost of a grin pecked at his lips. "Today I have something for you."

"A different type of shipment?" The beauty ventured cautiously, her mind curious of his meaning.

Laughter fell like a faint cough from the gang lord's lips. Shaking his straggly tresses, he smiled warmly. "No, Miss French, personally for you and you alone."

Dipping under the counter, he produced a black wooden box from the confines of the dark cabinet behind the register. Gently laying the container on the counter, his smile widened into a puerile grin. He seemed like a child giving his first gift to a life long playmate.

Curiosity blazed wildly in Belle's azure orbs as they focused on the black wooden box betwixt them. Creeping closer to the counter, the beauty flickered her gaze from the box then back to the gang lord. Intrigue crinkled her delicate brow with gentle lines of vexation as she tried to read what lay behind his eyes.

"What inside?" Her brow perched in stark fascination.

Slowly, as though savoring her inflamed curiosity, the fiend twisted the box to her and opened the lid. The old hinges creaked shrilly with ancient age as he displayed his gift specially selected for her.

A half shocked half awed gasp fell from the beauty's lush mouth at the sight of his dangerous offering. Her azure eyes brimming with curiosity smoldered into a mixture of horror and morbid intrigue. Nestled above the dark red silk bed at the bottom of the black box was a gun.

"The time has come you had protection of your own, Miss French." The gang lord explained lackadaisically to the stunned silent beauty. "I can't have Jefferson tailing you on every job. I've made him work far too hard all summer long making certain no ill befell you."

Eyes searching her visage, the businessman studiously detailed every contour of her lovely features. If she was interacting with the police, the illegal gun would be the icing on the cake of the biggest list of charges filed against him. Eagerness for promotion and recognition should have danced in her endless blue depths, yet he only saw fear mingled with some strange fascination for the weapon. She didn't know what to think of his gift, be his present good or ill.

Shaking her head as though coming out of some trance, the beauty flicked her eyes to the gang lord. Disquiet and consternation etched her visage in thin wrinkles as she canted her head slightly to the left. "A gun…you're giving me a gun?"

Not a hint of anger or accusation or eagerness for explanation laced her soft voice, the gang lord marked in his mind. She was simply confused.

"Not just any gun." The fiend corrected in his accented timbre. Hefting the weapon up delicately in his grip, he fully displayed the gun to her in all the glory the expensive piece well deserved.

The firearm was a graceful bit of weaponry to be certain. Even untrained eyes could see the fine quality put into the deathly device. The curved stock boasted an ivory handle inlaid with intricate trimmings of gold along the sides. The long polished barrel gleamed like elegant silver and spoke of a different era when art and weaponry were melded into one entity. Swirling, curved designs of desert flowers, rambled along on the hammer and barrel in expert craftsmanship detail unknown by new gunsmiths. Though the gun was magnificent, the weapon only held six bullets at one time instead of clips.

Looking at her stare at the offered weapon, the gang lord could not help feel an inkling of nervousness seep into his lanky being. Awkwardness crept along his senses, transmuting his studying gaze into one of seeking her approval for his gift. Never in his life had he freely given something, and now he truly wished her to like his choice.

"I thought you might like something with a dash of romanticism." The gang lord explained, as he revolved the six-shooter for her view. "Granted it's not modern by any means, but it'll get the job done quickly and clean when needed." A cold smile replaced the calm on his features. "That is, if you're a fair shot. If you don't know when to fire then the best gun in the world won't matter."

Proffering the weapon out like an offering to a heathen idol, the gang lord searched for any negative reaction. How he wanted her to like his gift. How he wanted her to know how much he fussed over the perfect weapon for her.

Stunned, Belle gingerly took the revolver in her delicate grasp. The firearm was heavier than she expected, but the weight held a sort of balance. Turning the gun over she admired the time and effort that had gone into crafting something both deadly and beautiful.

Gliding her hands over the ivory, her fingers curled naturally about the weapon. The gun was a perfect fit for her and only her.

Not knowing what to say, the beauty remained silent. What could she possibly say to such a gift? She didn't particularly want the gun, but the weapon had a certain charm and he had given the firearm to her freely and for the purpose of protection.

Understanding and troublesome thoughts inched into the gang lord's mind as she took up the weapon. Her accepting the gun without a hint of protest was not what he expected at all. Giving her the gun should have turned his suspicions in the right direction, now he was more confused than when he began.

Fighting the outward show of confusion away from his features, a ponderous frown tugged at the fringes of his lips. More than ever he was certain she was not in with the police or the mayor, so what was going on through her head. Did she want credit for taking down the leader of the Dark One's all for herself?

Taking the failure to root out her plans in stride, the gang lord steadied himself. Fortunately, he was a man who always planned for surprises, even those from bright eyed beauties.

There was one last thing he could try, the biggest and perhaps most dangerous of all his plots to see what her game entailed.

Abruptly, with the faint contemplation, seeds of unwillingness bloomed into his heart at the dastardly thought that flitted through his tactile criminal mind.

Though his suspicions were a raging inferno, he had to admit; on some level other than the cold criminal he was he enjoyed the eased company the beauty had about him. Not many ever seemed to calm and natural around his person. He craved her banter and wit that went toe to toe with his own and her intelligence that rivaled much of his. She was a breath of fresh air unlike any before her and he was loathe to go back to the same musty scent he breathed.

What he would put on her would perhaps churn up all she had laid down before them, but, he noted dourly, he was a criminal. Protecting his interests at all costs came before craving a bit of company. Even if the pay was giving up smiles and laughter from her, he had find truly where all her loyalty lied.

"There is one thing you have to do today." The gang lord's revealed his voice soberly cool and aloof.

Turning her attentions back to him, the beauty placed the gun down as though it were made of fine glass. "What's up?" She inquired almost innocently. Immediately, the part of her that was a budding smuggler readied for a run or to pick up a package at his behest.

"There is an underground strip club somewhere near the edge of town near the old mining facility." Gold informed her genially. Working as she spoke, his clever hands closed the empty box and placed the container beneath the counter.

Intrigued, Belle nodded knowingly of the club. The Dirty Dozen was an unspoken darkness all in the tiny shire knew of. Women in need of extra money sometimes went there to make cash and on ladies night a poor fellow in need of a few dollars could waltz out a rich man.

A dark grimace came to Belle's lips as an unpleasant thought assailed her mind. Often when she had been low on money and food alike, the thought to sign up for a few dances had been tempting. She was almost one of those women who sold her dignity for lifeless bills, but she had gone to Gold instead. If she had not struck a bargain with him then there was a very real chance she would have been dancing at the underground club to scrape in a few dollars here and there where she could.

Still, no horror stories ever came out of the place as far as anyone knew, and many never thought much about the boarded up old buildings that housed the club. Even the mayor let the little strip club slide under the radar as one of those "there are bigger fish to fry" kind of deals. So long as no one complained, nothing was done.

"Everyone's heard of the Dirty Dozen." The beauty heaved her shoulders in a slight shrug. "What's so important about it?"

Leaning over the counter, the gang lord locked her cornflower blur eyes to his conniving russet orbs. A feral, wolfish grin donned his lips from ear to ear as he stared at the beauty sinisterly. "What's important is that I do not own it. I never thought much of the Dirty Dozen, but lately I've change my mind. There is opportunity to be had there. Now the owner refuses to sell though I offered him an exorbitant amount for that filthy shack he calls a gentleman's club. The time has come for no more bargaining or cajoling of words." Voice cool as a shard of ice, the fiend slid the gun to the edges of the counter towards the beauty. His bright brown eyes never strayed from hers once. "Take this gun, find the owner of that foul establishment, and put a hole through his head."

Shock erupted in the beauty at the harsh command of the gang lord to her. He wanted her to kill someone.

"I…I...can't." Belle stammered falteringly, her voice dancing along the edge of sudden panic. Taking a step away from the gun, the beauty stared at the weapon as thought the firearm was a poisonous serpent. "Why do you want me to do it? Why not Jefferson, he's the hit-man."

"Others in this business know Jefferson's face and justly fear his murderous reputation. He works well striking when people least expect. If this fellow even catches a glimpse of Jefferson it'll be too late. He won't expect you. No one expects you." Gold revealed smoothly, his lips twisted into a smug smirk.

Her best asset was that none held an inkling of suspicion against Annabelle French the friendly, helpful librarian fallen on hard times. Everyone underestimated her genius and her innate ability to smuggle things that would be difficult for many others.

Dashing a hand through a shock of silky brown hair the beauty stared down at the gun. Eyes wide, she tossed her head zealously. "You are asking me to take a life, Mr. Gold. I can't just do that."

"You must, Miss French." His once smooth voice crackled with darkness. His maple depths narrowed as he remained staring at her beauty. "It's this or your freedom. The choice is yours."

Turning her eyes back to his, confusion flecked her blue orbs. "What choice? Ruin my life or steal another's? That's no choice at all."

"You chose to walk this path Miss French. These are choices people like us make. These are orders underlings follow." The gang lord rebutted simply, his voice cruelly hard.

Tears welled in her endless indigo depths as she looked at him armored in his carapace of cold uncaring. A stone hard callousness bound his body allowing no clemency or compassion through. Strands of her russet mane fell about her troubled features giving her face a stark look of fear and utter indecision. Hurt marbled her lovely visage, cutting into his body like a hot knife to his heart.

Swallowing hard, the beauty fought to keep the tears at bay. "Why are you doing this to me?" Her voice was a hoarse, wrenched whisper of pain and confusion. Did he not understand her emotion; that he was asking her to commit murder?

Summoning all his callousness, he fastidiously built a wall of uncaring towards her pleading orbs slicing through his skin and his walls. "I need something done." He replied tersely, his eyes cold and hard as stone on the rocky coast.

Killing, above anything else would ease the unknowing and mistrust he felt stewing within. If she did not kill then certainly she was working with someone or willing to put her morals above her father and freedom, but if she did kill, then no matter what circumstance he would have the biggest crime of all pinned upon her.

Perhaps then he could take down the wall he built up when she was near and enjoy her company to the fullest with the knowing if she ever did betray him she would not go down without her entire life being ruined in the flames of his destruction.

Pity welled in him that his actions had to be so, but he was a crime lord and such acts came with the business. Insurance was the only way to make sure he could step into foreign territory with relative safety. He couldn't become any less cautious because she offered him soft smiles and warm laughter.

"Please." Belle pleaded hoarsely, begging him to take back his command. She could not kill another, she simply couldn't steal a soul away.

Wordlessly, the gang lord plucked up his golden handled cane leaning against the counter. Turning away like a grave king who gave a terrible command, he slowly hobbled to the back of his shop. Clamping his jaw tightly, he walked away, uncertain what words would come spewing out of his mouth next if he remained staring at her pain. To free her from the job was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't, he was a criminal before a lonely man.

Abruptly, even as he shifted the beads to the back of his shop, the bell tingled above the front door. Jerking his head back around, the gang lord found the beauty, her sweater, and the gun gone.

Alarm flared within him at the sight of the barren counter. Blazing remorse swelled like a wave in his chest as he looked back. Limping back to the glass counter, he rubbed a tremulous hand across his face.

Tiredness suddenly sluiced over him, leaving him feeling sick and wobbly and nauseated from his own decree. Mistrust led him to order a lovely woman to kill.

What had he done to her, what new, strange thing that she invoked in him had he just so foolishly tossed away?

~8~8~

A plump, pregnant autumn moon beamed down brightly upon the tiny town and all the thick forest land that surrounded the shire, turning the night into a glowing radiance. Chill autumn wind rustled silently through the tall coppices of thick pines and massive oaks along the outskirts of Storybrooke like a low whispered secret from the corners of the world. The woods that encased Storybrooke like a shield held a bucolic mystery under their thick canopies that none could discern.

Darkness fell pleasantly over the town, providing a rare leisurely night betwixt the summer and fall transition. The earth still possessed a hint of heat from the summer, making the world comfortably warm in the blackness. People were out and about through the town with the young going to movies whilst others simply walked hand in hand and strolled the well lit streets or congregated at granny's for a bite and a chat.

The night was still and quiet on the fringes of the quaint shire. A few owls swooped about above in search of mice on the forest floor and smaller critters shifted through the underbrush on their own business, but little else.

In the darkness on the outskirts of town, where no light had ever been built along the lonely roadways, the old metal of the mining facility jutted out of the earth like a horrendous castle or claws coming from the barren soil.

Twisted metal of the dilapidated buildings contoured into eerie artwork in the night. Bent girders were gnarled fingers, dark gaping windows were hallow eyes of skeletons, and broken down doors were hungry mouths awaiting to devour any who dared trespass. The place looked akin to one giant beast about to come alive at any moment, and somewhere in the darkness was the Dirty Dozen.

No lights flickered from the frightfully abandoned work zone as some saw before on other nights when the club was busy. The dusty lot held only one car meaning they weren't operating tonight.

Since Emma Swann arrived in town, many places that weren't all in accordance with the law had started to be more cautious with their doings. Things did not happen on a regular basis anymore, and for that many of the folks in town were proud.

A hint of relief pulsed through her with the tiny grace that none would be there to see her, but quickly died away like a hot ember in a pool of water. Cool ivory and gold met her touch as she involuntarily squeezed the handle of the gun at her side for support. Though she owned the gun only for a few hours, she liked the comforting feel the weapon exuded.

Part of her didn't know why she had bought the firearm with her; she wasn't going to kill anyone no matter what Mr. Gold demanded. Smuggling money and even running drugs had been terrible, Belle admitted loathsomely to herself, but they hadn't been personal in a way that made her blanch with shame. She saw money and a suitcase, not peoples wrecked lives, and that in some way made it easier to cope. But killing, killing was an up close and personal deed. One that she would not endeavor no matter the cost.

Tucking the exquisite gun back in her blue sweater, the beauty trudged down to the darkness of the skewed metal and abandoned facilities. Her shoes crunched against the gravel in a lonesome sound that echoed in her flagging heart. She was all alone with only the one car in the blackness that told of a soul who would have died tonight had Jefferson taken her place.

Trepidation flared in the beauty's heart as she stopped at the boarded, but somewhat neat building that housed the Dirty Dozen. A bouquet of dusty roses was stenciled in red and black paint above the door, leaving no doubt she had arrived at the right place. The thick black door in her path showed good care and not a hint of rust. A bit of graffiti had been spray painted on as though for show, but little else.

Wary of being out in the open at such a place, the blue eyed beauty knocked cautiously upon the metal door.

"We're not open." A gruff, muffled voice bellowed sonorously from behind the thick plated door.

Gathering her courage, the beauty knocked harder, her will set. "It's important; I need to speak with the owner at once."

Strangely, as though, her voice sparked a different change of heart, the door jolted with a sharp clack of a thick lock. From safe inside locked bolts grinded from their purchases telling the beauty she was not being sent away after all. An ear splitting loud creak echoed from the doors unkempt hinges as the portal yawned open.

Blue and dull pink luminance tumbled out from the color lights in the main show room, giving shadow to the person towering before her. For the second time that day the beauty was taken by surprise. The owner of the Dirty Dozen was none other than Guy Stone.

Guy Stone hadn't changed much from their high school days, Belle noted as she stared into his scruffy, but still handsome visage. His raven hair was close cropped at the tip of his ears. His features looked as though they had been chiseled from marble by a master artisan. Muscles bulged over his body, telling he still kept immaculate care of himself and still preened upon his looks like a vain peacock.

Captain of the football team, home coming king, Mr. Popular even out of high school, Guy was the quintessential home town hero, or at least had been what seemed like a dream ago.

An ugly gray leisure suit donned his thick muscled body like a second skin. The first few navy blue buttons were popped away showing the top of his dark curly chest hair spilling out from his bulging, barrel chest. A gold medallion dangled from his neck in a tacky fashion.

Even though he fit well in the suit, he did not even come close to the debonair grace the gang lord did. Mr. Gold wore his suits with a gentlemanly style, not like ostentatious pimp trash trying in vain to look even remotely business like.

An oily smile weaseled upon Guy's features as he leaned against the door. "Belle French." The name drawled almost drunkenly off Stone's wily tongue. "I was wondering when you'd show up here begging for a job." His body radiated a preening victory. "I knew I just had to wait."

Pushing her utter, unfathomable distaste for Stone far back from her mind, the beauty frowned. Stalwartly banishing her surprise she arched a brow at the hulking man. "You run this place Guy?"

"Of course." The owner proffered his hand to the building. Rough laughter tumbled from his lips as he delved in explanation. "My old man had the joint before me and when he kicked it, I got the place."

Looking around, the beauty neared his muscled figure. Head low, her voice fell to a tentative whisper. "Look, Guy can we talk inside."

"Oh sure." Mock severity laced his tone as he nodded. "I understand how this might be embarrassing for some women."

Moving to the side, he allowed her to walk by. His breath reeked of cheap alcohol as the beauty passed nearly making her gag. Yep, same old beer guzzling Guy Stone. Though he still looked handsome a pig was still a pig no matter what trappings he was trussed in.

Shutting the thick door behind her, the strip club owner took the lead. Head high, his attitude seemed suddenly superior. Cockily, he swaggered about as though relishing in her presence at his club. "I know we have history Belle, but I can't just give the job to you. You still need to audition." He proclaimed haughtily as he wove his way through the dim, run down strip club.

Slightly irked, the beauty piped up. "Guy I'm not here to…."

"I'm not too picky but you need to show a little promise." He claimed calmly like some sort of interview manager.

Maneuvering through upturned chairs and puddles of sticky alcohol that had been missed by the mop, the owner came to a tackily decorated office that seemed more akin to a private lounge than a place to conduct business. The couches were gaudy dull purple felt and the walls were covered in tacky zebra print paint. A rickety desk with a foldout chair sat in the center and a three legged table heaped with alcohol was off in the corner. In the back of the room a steel, squat iron safe sat built into the wall so no enterprising thief could make off with the entire money hold.

"Guy." Belle growled his name slightly as she tailed him inside the sorry excuse for an office. Being with him just a few moments she could recall in bright, vivid detail why she had dumped him so readily. He was a selfish, arrogant, pig, who wasn't fit to spit shine Mr. Gold's shoes!

Bringing two cups from a decanter in the room, he poured the shot glasses filled with watered down whiskey. Swiftly, like a master card cheater, he dropped a gray capsule from the cuff of his suit in her glass.

His knotted shoulder heaved in a shrug as he continued, unperturbed by her insistent words. Whatever she wanted to talk about couldn't be too important. "Don't worry; you'll probably be a good dancer up there. With the right lighting and the right music you'll be a natural. I get a cut of everything you make of course."

"Guy will you listen to me." The beauty forced herself from screaming at him and tacking a few curses along for good measure. Rocks in the water listened better than him!

A far friendlier smile coated his lips as he padded back to her. Holding out the spiked drink, he nodded as though she were some upset child. "Sure, sure, Belle, but you know, you still look as nice as the last time I saw you. I'm sure with the right… motivation we can skip the audition." A small dark laugh fell from his swill stained lips. "Maybe we can even skip all of this together." Running his thumb along the edge of her jaw, he cocked his head slightly to the right. "Lets sit on the couch and talk things through."

Angered at his less than subtle words for what he desired, Belle frowned. Rage filled the beauty like a roaring tide of fire at his arrogant presumptuousness and his refusal to listen to her. Though she could not explain why, working for Gold produced a criminals pride deep in the crevices of her heart. Having him say such things when she could make more money in one good smuggling run than what he probably made in a night insulted her.

Lifting the glass she tossed the laced drink in his face to induce his full attention. "Will you listen to me for once in your dull life, Guy! I'm trying to save your skin!"

She had wanted to save the soul who owned the strip club, now she wished she hadn't come at all. For all she cared now, Jefferson could run him down with a car and throw his carcass in the bay!

Fury clouded the strip club owner's wet face like a dark roiling thunder cloud against a fair sky. Brown alcohol dribbled from his features as he stood silently like a massive statue gravely frowning in vast displeasure.

Wiping the swill from his eyes, he growled darkly at the beauty. "Same old Belle." He huffed in a trite, mirthless laugh. "Same old Belle thinking she knows everything. Still prideful and always clucking about something useless." A strange glint flickered in his eyes as the words dropped from his lips like heavy slabs of lead. Setting his glass down on the desk, the massive brute scowled. "I should have knocked sense into you when we were together. I should have put you in your place then." His feet were slow and stalking as he lumbered to the beauty. " But, as they say, I guess better late than never."

Backing away, the beauty stared wide eyed at her former beau. Murder and fury and lust danced hotly in his gray eyes like tongues of flame. He had his problems long ago, but never like this. Once he was merely selfish and conceited, now she could see a different Guy altogether, one that frightened her.

Before she could move, the bear of a man lunged forward. For a big specimen, the brute was exceedingly quick. His meaty hand encircled her right wrist while the other dug into her left shoulder forcing her against the tackily painted wall.

Jerking her hand caught hand, the shot glass in her grip crashed to the floor in a million shards as he pressed himself against her. Pain filled the beauty as her body crashed into the wall. The painting hung up jostled from the titanic crash. His fingers dug into her skin like claws eager to shed blood as he pinned her tightly.

"Guy." Her voice sounded hollow as he dreadfully loomed over her like a dark cloud. Panic sluiced inside her as she tried to wriggle free form his clutches. "Guy." She echoed again, her tone fighting away the pain and fear.

"Just shut-up, Belle." He grinned devilishly as he pushed her further against the wall. His alcohol tainted breath was heavy and hot against her face like a dragon's hot maw about to devour her up. "It's not like anyone can hear you anyway."

Fear and fury filled the beauty as his bear like hands pawed at her shoulders seeking to rip off her clothes. "Guy, please. Let me go, let me talk to you." Her voice was hollow and raspy as the first autumn leaves over the asphalt. Carefully, her free hand fumbled for what lay beneath her sweater as she continued to struggle. "Don't make me do this, Guy, please."

A half buzzed chuckle slithered from his barely parted lips. Determined to have her, he slammed his full weight against her own to pin her. "Do-" The other word never reached his lips as the gun went off.

A sharp crack echoed solidly through the air like a shout. A spark of light seemed to go off betwixt them then die away.

Bright, burning pain flared sharply through Guy's Adonis-like body as the ringing fled from his ears. His hulking figure felt as though someone had punched a spiked fist through his frame. His eyes widened suddenly as the pain shot through the entirely of his bearish figure. His lungs felt wet and sticky as though he was drowning. He could barely inhale and every breath was a laborious chore.

Staggering backward, he stared at the beauty in mild surprise as though not comprehending what occurred. Slow witted realization bloomed in his dull mind as he turned his head down. Blood gushed from his torso in a fount of his living essence. Sticky crimson stained his gray suit and cascaded down his tacky fabrics to drip upon the floor.

A wet cough bubbled haphazardly from his lips as though he tried to speak. Flecks of blood stained his quivering lips that held no words upon his confused tongue. Hand over the gaping whole as though he could hold in his ichor, he stared at her with dying eyes brimming with surprise.

"Mr. Gold sent me here to kill you." Belle admitted tremulously in a chocked whisper that spewed from her tight throat. "I wasn't going to, I wanted to tell you to run. But you wouldn't listen. You just wouldn't listen."

Confusion etched his features as he rubbed his fingers with his gummy fluid. If he heard her explanation, he dull features never showed understanding.

Lurching forward as though to reach for the beauty one last time, Guy Stone fell hard in a heap to the floor of his club - dead.

Stone quiet echoed in the club louder than any music could have. Forever, Belle seemed to stare at his still corpse upon the strip club office floor. Glossy blood pooled under him, marring the gritty floor with his ruby fluid. His blood was still warm, his carcass still fresh but cooling at a fast pace. An adventurous fly buzzed about the corpse as the only movement.

Looking down, the beauty's eyes sat riveted to the bleeding body. Blood froze in her veins, her heart ceased its frantic beat, and even her lungs refused to work at her body's behest as she stared at what she had done.

She had just killed a man. A man she had known most of her life.

Abruptly, a cry of horror for what she had just done wrenched past her pink lips. Her shrieks rang ghastly through the club as she exuded the terror within. Body trembling, the beauty scrambled out the door. Tears brooked down her cheeks as she disappeared into the night leaving the corpse behind.

The wind cooled the tears upon her cheeks as she ran back to the heart of Storybrooke where the small town held no filthy secrets on its simple surface. Where she was going, she knew not, all she wished to do was run forever to escape what she had done.

The world passed by in a dark blur that slowly felt enclosing upon her. Her body felt disconnected from the world with every step. Blood was on her hands; she had seen the soul of another depart the body she had lethally maimed with a single shot.

Thoughts of her crime assailed her from every direction in the darkness. Wherever she turned she could see Guy's face and his dying slate gray eyes staring at her. There was no peace to stop and catch her breath for he was always right in front of her dying and falling to the floor before her.

Frenzied and alone she ran with nowhere to go until she arrived at the gang lord's shop. The shop was mostly dark, but the faint speck of a light broke through the curtains, telling he was not gone for the night. Why she had ran there didn't matter, she knew with what inkling of calm thought she still possessed. She just had to see someone, even if the someone was the man who ordered her to kill. Besides, who else could she go to? The Sheriff?

Though the place seemed empty, she knew he rarely was not there. Careless, the beauty forced open the door. The bell above her seemed to bellow, telling of what she had done to Guy Stone.

"Miss French?" Gold's voice was laced with surprise as he appeared in the front of his shop to see who intruded upon his den. His suit jacket laid neatly folded on the counter leaving him in a dark blue silk shirt and a dark crimson tie. Confusion laced the fiend's features as he limped towards her. She looked as though something terrible had….

"Mr. Gold." The beauty's voice cracked raggedly, her quiet words drenched with riotous emotion.

Staggering into the light of the single lamp, her blank features glimmered hauntingly into his. Cold blood lay splattered her lovely features and clothes like crimson tears. The now cool gun hung loosely in her blood slick grip by the tip of her fingers.

She had killed, he knew immediately. She had done her job.

"Belle." Her name came surging from his lips in a flow of warm compassion. Shame filled his every crevice of his soul as he limped forward. "Oh Belle." What had he made her do?

"I… I killed him." Pure, burning anguish wrought of torn emotion filled her soft voice like a cry. "I wasn't going to. I only wanted to warn him, but he attacked me and I… I put a whole in his chest."

Taken by emotion, the gang lord wrapped his arms about her. His arms squeezed her tight, pressing her close to his body.

Sobs shuddered through her form as she leaned into his arms. Guy had tried to harm her, but still she had killed another person. Truly, then there was no going back, the final fetter locked her in place. She was a murderess, a criminal through and through to her very core. She was no better than Jefferson, or the people who shot at her. She was no better than the dealers peddling on the streets or the beckoning women on the sidewalks alluring customers.

"It's alright." The gang lord whispered comfortingly into her ear. "It'll be alright I promise."

Nothing would lead back to her he promised in a silent wave of tenderness for her. The crime would never be pinned on her head, but getting away with a murder and knowing what had occurred were too separate things.

Hot tears sopped his shirt and seeped into his flesh like droplets of acid as she quietly sobbed in his arms. He had done this to her, he had made her kill to allay his own suspicions.

Burying his nose into her hair, he held her tighter as though he could squeeze out all her pain and put her torment on himself. "I'm sorry." He proclaimed wretchedly. "Oh Belle I'm sorry."

For all his power and wealth, he couldn't erase what she had done from the annals of her mind. All he could do was comfort her from her actions. The actions he had forced her to enact all for his suspicious nature.

Inwardly, he swore to himself never do such a foolish thing, especially to her. Never again did he wish to see the look of abject pain slashed upon her features. Never again did he wish to look into her eyes and intimately feel the exact pain that burned through her body like liquid flames. Never again would he ask her to kill.

Now, he only hoped she could heal from his foolishness.


	7. Fateful Bullets

Cool trickles of early dawn light seeped in welcomingly through thin cracks in the rotted wooden boards nailed along the windows of the underground strip club the Dirty Dozen. Hazy autumn rays danced obliquely across the dirty cream colored tiled floor in thin slants of golden luminance that filled the disreputable club with real sunlight and fresh air for the first time in long months.

In the desolation thick gray motes of dust wafted down softly through the rays of tawny gold before tumbling away like fresh snow upon the unkempt floor. With the light of dawn the club seemed like an unearthed tomb of yore, cracked open for the first time in centuries.

Upturned chrome chairs with ripped padded seat cushions clustered above old rickety tables that were in need of new varnish to hide away the aged water rings that scoured their brown faces. The silver pole jutting out in the center of the runway gleamed with the slants of light that filtered brightly through the yawned opened doors and cracks in the window boards.

Carefully, the stoic new deputy of Storybrooke, Emma Swann stalked betwixt the tables like a prowling lioness on the hot trail of wounded prey. A ponderous frown tugged lightly upon her disapproving pink lips as she took her time snaking through the club for clues. Keen winter blue eyes gazed intently about the gentleman's club with an expert air of her bounty hunter days as she examined the illegal business neatly splayed before her.

The bar tucked away on the eastern wall was clean and untouched by greedy drunken hands that would have happily looted the expensive liquor. Pricey bottles in a multitude of hues remained locked up tight behind thick panes of glass to display their wares. There was no sign of struggle on the gaudy stage or in the back amongst the worn dressing rooms filled with old feather boas in endless colors and skimpy clothes for the desperate dancers. What illegal toxins and paraphernalia might have been stashed under loose tiles and boards had long been since cleaned out by expert dealers but bereft of the tale tell marks a disagreement left behind.

From what Emma learned no one truly spoke ill about the clandestine club save for disapproving elderly ladies in town. The pay was fair, the customers were satisfied, and everyone knew not to ruin a good thing by spoiling for fights or getting too handsy with the dancers.

So why was there a rotting corpse festering in the back room?

The thought burned like a blazing comet through Emma's tactile mind as she finished her first raw, perusing look about the gentleman's club. Padding near the door, the deputy leaned against the paint shipped wall, granting her full access to see all the club. Someone wanted the muscled man in the back room dead, but given the mild reputation of the club, the who and why someone shot the poor soul was a growing enigma every second.

Thin tendrils of opaque steam glided languidly into the sickly stench filled air mingling with the cool crisp wind that happily filtered from the outside forest world as the deputy finished her observation. The scent of fresh brewed coffee mingled with the wafting odor of decay lingered in her senses in some odd perfume that tickled her nose.

A discontent sigh fell from Emma Swann's lips as she savored her second cup of coffee in the all too early morning. Her right gloved hand gripped the tall, white Styrofoam as though the cup was a precious gemstone. After getting the call right as she entered the police station, the hot liquid seemed an invaluable ally as she worked the case.

Ruminating pleasantly on the warm cup, the lovely deputy ran her mind through the series of information dealt her on the gruesome case. Some guy looking for the dead man for times when the club would reopen found the strip club owner on the office floor at about 4:30 in the all too early morning. When she and Graham had finally gotten to the old club, the scene was a nauseating one.

The body laid face down and rotting amongst shot glass shards and cheap alcohol. Dried blood cracked like old paint on the office floor and plump maggots infested the deteriorating skin around the bullet wound of the once well muscled soul. Ravenous rats had greedily gnawed at the fingertips revealing slivers of bone beneath the untrimmed nails. The length of decay raised such a miserable vomit inducing stench that even the stoic sheriff heaved from the toxic aroma.

A grim smile etched Emma's lips as she nursed her warm cup thankfully. Coffee was the only salvation in making the onerous trial through the morning with a settled stomach and a clear mind to piece together what had occurred to the dead man. But clear mind or no, the case was a confusing one.

"Drinking on the job Miss Swann? For shame." Graham tsked mockingly serious as he dipped under the tapped off office of the gentleman's club.

Vibrant streaks of red rimmed his greenish-gray eyes as he lumbered sleepily towards his new deputy. His crisply ironed clothes and his normally neatly trimmed beard were ruffled holding testament that he too had been disturbed from what should have been a calm, normal day in the small town where most crime came from rowdy drunks and people parked in no parking zones not quizzical murder scenes.

A smile tugged widely upon the blonde's lips as she handed the sheriff the extra cup in her grip. "Just don't tell my boss. He might ban bear claws." She parried neatly, her smile fading as soon as the grin came.

Sighing tiredly, the blonde crossed her red leather clad arms and leaned against a faded wall. Her head nudged faintly to the taped off door as she took a precarious sip of the hot brew. "So what's the info on the poor guy in there?" She asked mildly curious.

Lips contorting into a thoughtful frown, the sheriff looked down to his deliciously steaming coffee. Focusing intently on the warm cup he tentatively gave his synopsis. "His name was Guy Stone. He owned the place after his father died." He explained lowly, rolling the cup between his hands. "Aside from a few brush ins with the law and owning this place, he wasn't into anything terribly crooked. A few of his best customer will miss him, but that's all."

Absorbing the information stoically, the stalwart blonde nodded as she tucked the perhaps critical information away. Motioning her hand to the barren club, her brow quirked slightly. "Any jealous girlfriends, angry employees, or drunken patrons ever give him trouble?" She inquired tactfully behind the rim of her cup.

"Not that I can scrounge up. But perhaps there's another motive. Our victim had sleep inducing drugs on him." The sheriff heaved his shoulders in a shrug. "That's reason enough for someone in this town to kill. From what I can tell he might have used those pills on any number of women. Whoever killed him might be hailed a hero to his victims if there are any."

A snort of mirthless humor echoed from the deputy's mouth. Shifting her weight from one foot to the left thoughtfully, she glanced to the sheriff incredulously. "Are you saying he deserved it?"

"Most likely." Graham conceded emotionlessly. "I'm not saying the murder isn't a crime, but no one is crying too hard over his death. All that's left now is to figure out who did us the favor."

"Mr. Gold?" Emma queried lowly. Her mouth puckered disdainfully at the name. Sourness laced her tongue at the very mention of the wily fiend of Storybrooke. More and more she was finding how much she disliked the gang lord who ruled the quaint province under the cover of innocence.

Shaking his head, the sheriff stared blankly at the empty club. "Gold wouldn't do such sloppy work. Neither would Jefferson."

"Jefferson?" The blonde's brow wrinkled with confusion at the new name.

"Mr. Gold's hit man." Graham explained casually, his words brimming with vast distaste of the moniker. "Just like Gold we can't prove he does the murdering for him, but everyone knows he's the man who keeps the competition scared."

Another languid sigh passed the deputy's lips, her mouth twisting sardonically at his ill boding words. Her boot scuffed at the floor sending a plume of grayish dust into the air as she brought her thoughts together. "So we have a brand new accomplice in the mix?"

"Possibly." He admitted offhandedly, his mind working through the information. "Could be the same person who snuck the money into the bank."

"So we're dealing with an unknown here." Emma spat acidly, her voice low. Muttering a low curse the deputy ran a tired hand through her golden tresses, her shoulders slumping with the motion. "I hate unknowns."

Having someone that no one in the close knit town could identify as the new worker for the leader of the Dark One's was bad news for everyone. Who could be trusted with an unknown now mingling with Mr. Gold's craven ilk? A spy could be anywhere, lurking just within ear shot to give Gold every bit of information he desired.

Leaning close to the deputy, the sheriff held out his hand as though to console the blonde. "Not so unknown." He chuckled quietly. His fingers unfurled revealing a silver casing rolling in his calloused palm.

The casing was cast in pure silver, something that might have belonged to a gun of a long ago age.

"A weird casing? That's not much." The cunning blonde observed wryly. A shell could be used as evidence if the gun as still about, but knowing Gold he probably had the gun demolished with no way to track he even owned the particular firearm.

Shrugging, the sheriff tucked the shell securely in his breast pocket. Chagrin donned his bearded lips as he shrugged helplessly. "Nothing ever is when Mr. Gold is involved."

"I've been meaning to ask about that." Her mouth quirked slightly to the left. "How come no one has taken that guy out yet? After all he's done, the lives he's ruined, the people that fear him, why hasn't you or anyone just did the deed and let life go on from under his heel?"

Stiffly shaking his head the sheriff stared blankly out. His fingers absently toyed with the bronze star at his belt thoughtfully. "We uphold the law, Emma. We can't go around doing those things we need to set an example no matter how distasteful." Graham remarked sourly, his mouth his mouth a thin line hidden beneath his beard. "As far as the people go they've feared him since for as long as I can remember. No one will dare go against him."

Tossing her empty cup in a nearby bin, the blonde shook her head firmly. Having Gold run amok for so long was not acceptable. He held the entire community enthralled with terror that no one would even speak up against a murder.

"That needs to change." Her blue eyes glimmered fiercely like a knight of old. "He needs to know not everyone is afraid of him and that people around here actually have a spine."

Someone had to stand up to the beast.

~8~8~

Recovery. Grimly, Mr. Gold rolled the desolate, heartless word in his mind like a sour wine dashed upon his tongue. Recovery was a long an arduous thing for anyone to undergo. Two weeks had passed since his Belle had killed a man and her recovery was slow but steady.

In the days passing the murder, the truth of what she had done came faltering from her lips in melancholic confession. Her words had been insipid and numb as they tumbled from her frowning mouth. Though the words admitted her treachery to him, they came uncaring of reprisal from his hand. She had left to warn Guy Stone, not kill him.

Defying the gang lord's hard, murderous commands with the threat of unpleasantness lingering over her like the hand of death, she blatantly, bravely went to reveal the plan of assassination but the owner had turned on her wanting only to fuel his lustful desires denied him when he once courted her long ago.

To any other who admitted such rebellion to him, the gang lord would have made certain they never lived to speak such traitorous words again, but she only fortified his trust for her with her admission. After that night not an inkling of suspicion rankled through him for his lucky smuggler. He would have trusted her with his life that moment he held her shuddering body against his. Her agony assured him enough she was no traitor and never would be.

But the cost…. The cost of such assurance was nearly too much.

Pain flared rabidly through the fiend as the images of the night she stumbled into his establishment flashed before him in horrific detail. She had been dispirited, disheartened, beaten into the ground by her unwitting actions.

The hefty toll nearly unwound her beautiful soul at the very epicenter of her warm, kind heart and turned her into a barren shell of the woman she once was. Her only solid links to justification was that the despicable brute had tried to force himself upon her and through all her sleepless nights the gang lord was there to console her grief and tame the nightmares that galloped freely in her restless repose.

Every nightmare she awoke too was told to him in vivid recount by her lush, stammering lips. Her sleepless nights, pacing and jittery, were his own. Her regretful tears were ones he shed on the inside as he made her a cup of tea and they talked well into the night in the confines of his dimly lit shop when she couldn't force herself to turn home and too bed where terror anxiously awaited behind her eyelids.

Never in his life had he been there for another, but he was there for the woman who had killed when all she wished to do was save a life. Never in his days had he felt ashamed of a death, but he regretted every word he spoke to her that day. If he had not ordered the brutes death, she would have never gone to the club and none of her pain would have occurred.

He blamed himself fully and utterly, he knew ashamedly. The fault lay on his shoulders and his alone, not hers by any means.

Elbows against the counter in his shop, the gang lord frowned darkly in the dim confines of his lair. Frustrated, he rapped his wiry fingers rhythmically against the glass in a steady tempo. His maple brown eyes stared thoughtfully at the black phone laid out before him like some ancient puzzle box as he anxiously awaited for the phone to buzz.

Everyday her calls were getting shorter. The shock was departing and finally she saw through the milky haze of the gun smoke. Through all her torn emotions shredding about her soul, she was getting better and learning to cope with her erroneous actions bit by tortuous bit.

She was getting better, but even in her progression; the horror of what she had done still glared through her sky blue orbs and down to her tormented soul. The abject shame of that night was nearly too heavy to bear, he knew grimly, but he had shouldered as much of her melancholy as he could grasp.

Part of his darkness could not help but feel foolish since the entire shooting. In his time coaxing her back to the Belle before the death, he had skimped on his normal doings. Shipments went uncared for in their cases; money piled up in the back room of his shop till the point moving about in the safe-like room was getting difficult.

He had tossed everything aside for the woman he knew only for a summer, and in truth, he regretted nothing of turning his attention to her and her alone.

Abruptly, the bell above his shop rang out tugging his train of thought off their desolate rails. Jerking his head upwards the fiend glowered at the soul who traipsed about his den fearlessly.

"Morning Gold." Emma bit out dryly to the gang lord as she entered his lair. Marching closer to the counter, the blonde stared icily at the false businessman. Fearlessness blazed courageously in her cerulean eyes as she stared him down with as much silent hatred as he did her.

A thin smile slashed upon the gang lord's lips as he smoothly slid the phone from the counter from view. "What a pleasant surprise, Miss Swann. Are you looking for something or just here to harass me again?"

"Actually _I am_ looking for something." She rebuffed flatly. Stepping close to the glass, the deputy opened her hand. A sharp patter of silver rang out from the quiet shop as the deputy laid forth her evidence upon the glass counter. The shell rattled tenuously upon the thick glass as she leaned her elbows against the counter, looming over the shell. "Tell me where that came from." She demanded lowly, her mouth a thin line.

Dry amusement marbled the fiend's weathered features as he toyed with the casing like a child with a new toy. Plucking the hollow point up expertly, his fingers tapered over the silver shell in an examining manner. Putting the case up to his eye, the fiend squinted as though trying to figure out what the silver was. "If I had to guess where this came from, I'd say a gun." He teased cruelly, his lips spread in a taunting smirk.

"Quit the crap, you know what I mean." Emma growled lowly, her eyes pinioned upon him with a murderous glare.

Shaking his head the gang lord flicked the shell off the counter. A small ping whispered through the air as the silver casing rolled about at the blonde's brown boots.

A dangerous grin brimming with threat etched his thin lips as he stared darkly at the deputy who challenged his rule. The mention of the shooter launched his thoughts back to the beauty. His promise echoed back in his head with just as much emotion as he had given his oath that night. "No I don't now please get out of my shop. I don't take kindly to loitering even from police with nothing better to do with their time."

She had no evidence attaching him to anything. Jefferson had cleaned up what little evidence there had been, but left the casing just as one taunting clue. They would never cobble together what had occurred unless he wished them to do so.

"I will say this though." He dared brazenly, his tone black and cold as a mid winters night. "Who ever this bullet was used upon deserved his death and far more."

After Belle explained what Guy had tried to do, if the brute had lived by some errant miracle, he would have gone to finish the job personally.

Anger seeped into the deputy at the bold statement that skirted almost along the lines of confession. "These deeds are going to catch up to you one day Gold." Emma swore darkly as she knelt to pick up the casing.

Even as the words sailed from her lips, the bell above the shop jangled again. The brown shades rustled with the sudden gust of ill wind sailing though the shop like a whisper of danger.

Flickering his icy brown gaze back to the door, the gang lord paused to see the figure caught before him on his threshold. A short man in dark clothes stood at the entrance like a boulder wedged in the door.

Light cascaded from behind him, cloaking most of his features in an adumbrated glow. Tears coursed down his haggard, drug sunken cheeks as he glared murder at the gang lord. A small boot pistol trembled in his thick grip as he raised the weapon to the fiend. "You killed Guy!" The dark haired soul cried raggedly.

Before the gang lord could move, before he could reach for the pistol nested under the counter, the gun blazed to life. A sharp crack split the air as the gun shot out thrice in rapid succession. Empty shells rattled to the wooden floor as the stricken soul aimed for the fiend with tear dammed eyes.

The world seemed to speed to an incredible pace as the gun went off, and then the moment was over.

Smoke trailed sinuously like a wily vaporous snake from the barrel as the bullets stopped blazing through the air. The harsh stench of powder lingered along the breeze as the only remnant of the shooting.

Fiery pain blossomed through the gang lords left arm as the bullets found their mark in his flesh. Agony erupted in his wiry figure with the sudden intense torment wrought from the bullets bite. His flesh felt afire and ripped by invisible claws. Blood dribbled from his open flesh, staining the dark blue of his silken shirt a blackish crimson hue.

Falling to his knees, the fiend clutched at the wounded arm with his good hand. Blood oozed thickly between his clenched fingers as he stifled a scream in the back of his throat. Two of the bullets had found their mark, he could tell, while the other had missed entirely. The wounds had not hit anything major but they were bad.

Through the glass counter, the fiend stared into the cold blue orbs of Emma Swann. Shock etched her features from the sudden shooting ringing about her. Her life had only been spared by picking up the bullet casing at that exact moment.

Abruptly as the shock wore off hardness glinted in her sharp azure eyes, giving no offering of pity or aid to the struck gang lord. She knew he was hit by the assailant and didn't care.

"Miss Swann." He stammered her name desperately through barely pried lips.

Shaking her head, the deputy jumped to her feet. She could have stayed with him and called for an ambulance, she could have leapt across the counter to aid him as she would have any other person. Instead she turned away.

Brandishing the gun under the jacket, the blonde raced out the door to half heartedly peruse the shooter. If Mr. Gold, died then so be the circumstance, he deserved help from no one.

Gasps fell falteringly from the gang lord's lips as he watched the deputy disappear out the exit. She walked at an almost leisurely pace as though enjoying the early fall sunshine bearing down over the quaint town.

Laying prone upon the dusty floor of his shop the fiend fought to keep the agony smothered from his lips. The hospital wouldn't help him after what he had done to Whale a few months ago, even if he did want to go to a hospital, the police already abandoned him, and even passersby's would tune out his haggard pleas for aid or drown out his cries with merry laughter and toasts of his inglorious death.

No one would help him, he knew dourly, no one but perhaps…. Immediately, the gang lord stubbornly shook the hopeful thought away. After what he ordered her to do, she would never come.

Still….

Hand trembling the fiend dug into his pocket for the phone. Blood slicked the black plastic casing as he flicked open the cell. His fingers tremulously stabbed in her number as he fought for life.

Breath by breath his conscious was failing from his thoughts. Darkness lurked eagerly at the corner of his mind edging closer with each second like nightfall over a tired world. Blood pounded through his veins ringing dully in his ears like distant war drums. If he reached out for no one he would die slowly upon the floor, he knew grimly. Even if she did not respond to his cries she was his last hope.

Placing the phone to his ear, each shrill ring seemed a lifetime. She wouldn't pick up, the darkness whispered to him, out of all the time he ordered her to actions she loathed she wouldn't….

"Hello?" Belle's voice rang like the songs of heaven in his ears, forcing the disparaging thoughts away from the forefront of his mind. Surprise generously laced her tone as though she was confused as to why he called so early.

Relief suffused his bloodied form as he fought away sweet slumber. "Belle." His voice croaked tremulously in the throes of pain. "I've been shot, I need… I need help." He gasped, his voice strained with tremulous effort. "At the shop… no doctors no police… please come…."

Icy claws of darkness sank their talons into his bloody consciousness pulling him into a world of oblivion with each word. Fighting in vain to keep from falling in the morass of unconsciousness, the phone slowly slid from his blood stained grip as he murmured the last words over in his delirious state.

"Please come…." The injured fiend uttered in a raspy, deathly whisper. The phone clacked to the blood pooled upon the floor as he repeated the words through silent lips. "Please come…."

~8~8~

Fear such as Belle had never known filled the quiet beauty's form as she raced down the cold gray streets of Storybrooke. The wondrous morning was lost to the beauty as she threaded her way to the gang lord's shop at the fastest possible pace she could. The smiling townsmen ambling about and bidding her good morning and the dewed world enraptured with falls coming clambered by in a discrepant haze as she flew down the narrow streets. Her hair fluttered like a pennant in the wind with each stride to the gang lord.

His call had come right before she headed off to work at the library. His words gasping for breath filled her with horrid scenes of the night Guy had died before her eyes. In her minds eyes she could see the hulking form of Guy swapped with the slender figure of the gangster. She could almost imagine the blood staining his fine suit and dripping like a leaky faucet on the floor. Now, she felt no other urge but to find him and banish the thought from her mind.

Frightened energy crackled through her form like lightening as she raced down the streets. Her breath came in heavy, large bellows as she ran madly as though the dogs of nightmare bayed upon her heels. The thought of Gold dying….

A violent shudder raced through her form even at the unpleasant thought. Over the longs months of summer, he had been her only companion, the only one who seemed to see pass her oddity.

Jogging to a halt outside his shop, the beauty gazed at the noticeably wrong establishment. The whitewashed door swung open freely in the crisp breeze telling her immediately something was truly amiss. Mr. Gold never left his shop open for the world to gaze inside. Letting her keep the blinds open when she stopped by was a difficult enough chore!

Heart tumbling like a rolling boulder in her chest, the beauty crept into the dimly lit shop. Blood oozed sluggishly through her body as though she were caught amidst a dream. An eerie quiet layered upon the shop as though no sound could penetrate the filth and grime. Sunlight cascaded thought her door showing the amount of dust that gathered on the trinkets.

Steeping inside warily as though she did not belong, the beauty searched for clues of an ambush awaiting her or the gang lord. "Mr. Gold?" The word fell anxiously from her lips as she strode further into his den.

Eyes scanning the shop, immediately, her blue orbs found his body through the glass counter. Half his form lay propped up against the glass counter. His head lay limply to the left and blood bubbled from a portion of his arm in a steady stream.

"Mr. Gold!" Belle all but screamed, her heart dropping in the pit of her stomach at the sight of him.

Racing to his prone form behind the counter, the beauty gazed at the horror. Blood gummed the floor like paint, tainting the wood. Flecks of his bright crimson essence stained the glass counter where he lay half perched. Lying there, he looked akin to a broken marionette tossed away by a surly puppet master. A ghastly pale hue blanched his features, making him seem almost delicately painted by the hand of death.

Kneeling in the sticky pool of his ruby essence, the beauty grasped his limp hand. Her fingers flew to his neck, desperate to feel for a pulse. Terror instilled her very soul as she desperately tried to find a sign of life. He had to be alive, he had to be.

Relief shuddered through her as she located a steady but faint beat throbbing in him. He wasn't dead, not by a long shot. Though his wounds looked terrible he was indeed alive, weak but alive.

Hot tears welled in her azure orbs as she racked her brain on what to do for the gang lord. Thoughts swirled in a terrifying whirlwind of an inferno in her mind. He said no police and no doctor, but then could he have been delirious from the loss of blood?

Could she chance his words were mere babblings from blood loss or had he known before passing out?

Flicking a curling strand of straggly hair from his features, the beauty forced the tears back from her eyes. "You're going to be okay, Mr. Gold, I promise."

Fighting with the idea to call an ambulance, the beauty pilfered through this fine blood splattered black jacket. Her fingers plunged through the silk lined pockets till her hands struck cold metal.

Plucking the keys from his pocket the beauty ran into the back alleyway to start his car. Though she did not own a car herself she could drive and the dark tinted windows would make the perfect cover for driving his vehicle to get him to safety.

She couldn't take care of him at the shop where people could come to finish the job. But she could take him to a haven where she could readily call a doctor should his condition grow worse.

As the car roared to life, the beauty raced back into the shop. In her race, she grabbed a water bottle from the back and gingerly stepped over his form. Locking the front door, she carefully peeped out of the curtain to make certain none were in the vicinity of his establishment. Things could go downhill fast if anyone saw her tending the monster of Storybrooke or anyone looking to see if he was dead came sniffing about.

Quickly closing shop, she turned her full attention back to the unconscious gang lord. Kneeling the beauty peeled away his jacket. Her unskilled hands tied the fine suit material neatly over the oozing wounds in his arm to stopper the flow. Though she knew little about wounds, even she could tell if he lost anymore blood then she would have to take him to the hospital no matter what he claimed.

Digging into her pocket, the beauty fumbled desperately for her phone. Only one other number was installed in her phone and one she thought she'd never need. Trembling, the worried librarian punched in the numbers with a blood stained hand.

Placing the phone in the crook of her shoulder and held by her ear she focused on attending the fiend with both hands. Dull rings assailed her ears as she fought to scream in the sheer hysteria of it all; Gold wounded and helpless and she was the only one to save him.

Finally, for what seemed like eternity, the phone stopped ringing.

"What?" A bleary voice slurred through the speaker, the slow voice laced with annoyance.

"Jefferson?" She sputtered the name as he picked up.

"Belle?" The hit mans sleepy voice flitted with confusion. Never had Gold's lucky smuggler called him for anything. "Is something wrong?" He asked cautiously.

"Yes, you have to come to Gold's shop. He's been shot and I need to move him." Her hands worked hurriedly to unscrew the water bottle as she talked. Digging into her pocket, she brought forth the kerchief she had never given back to him.

Rustling echoed over the phone as the hatter sighed fighting the sweet coaxing of slumber. "Alright, I'm coming hang on."

"Come from the back." She warned swiftly before he hung up.

Taking the water she splashed the cool liquid on the gang lord's pallid features desperately. Even though he wasn't a built man she couldn't carry him by herself and even if she dared try he could become worse still.

For what seemed like hours, she pressed his damp purple kerchief to his head. Her eyes memorized the feel of his cool flesh and the contours of his features whilst trying to revive him. If he did die, part of her wished to remember everything about him.

"You're going to be alright, Gold. I'm taking you to a place you'll be safe." She uttered words of comfort though he could not hear.

Her gaze strafed to the grandfather clock nestled in the hordes of junk as she dabbed the last bit of water on his face. "Where are you Jefferson?" She mumbled under her breath, her voice laced with panic. They had no time to lose.

As if on cue, footsteps thundered from the back. Restlessness branded the hatters crazed features as he stood over them. A gun hung limply in his right hand as though ready to kill for the gang lord at a moments notice.

Breathing heavily, he stared warily at the limp figure of his employer. Strands of jet black hair wisped in front of his ragged features giving him a dark insane look. Slowly his gaze shifted to the beauty questioningly. "Is he…." He let the unspoken word hang in the air.

"No." Belle replied calmly, forcing the panic from her throat. "Just help me get him into his car."

"Well where are we taking him?" The hatter gingerly stepped over the blood pooled under them.

Flopping the gang lord's arm across her shoulder, the beauty looked up strangely calm. "My place." She decided firmly. "He'll be safe there."

"Whatever you say. You're his lucky smuggler, maybe he will be alright." The hit man claimed. Grabbing the other portion of his body, the hatter helped her haul the limp form of the fiend up.

Her muscles burned as they half dragged half carried the notorious gang lord to the back of the shop and into his car. He needed protection away from those who sought his death and the police who wanted to see him in a casket or in the hospital out of the way.

Now, Belle knew imperatively, was time to smuggle Mr. Gold to safety from those who wished him ill.


	8. A Crack in the Door

_A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing guys and gals!_

**~8~8~**

Dull throbbing pulsed poignantly in the gang lord's wandering, tactile mind as his senses tenuously broke through the realm of blank unconsciousness. His thoughts ambled about hither and thither through portions of his hard life that carved him into who he was. Business deals and merciless killings and ruthlessness that brought him to the top of the criminal underworld dashed through his brains in a menagerie of images whilst he progressed through each door housing some reminiscence in his brain.

Each heartbeat brought forth a new time and place lodged like painted murals in his mind. They seemed to pop up like a hand delicately placed the memories in his head, until the images seemed to run out into a white fog that held no more of his life.

In the haze of the white mist came new images unknown to his past. All too real dreams assaulted him from all sides in his clever mind. His addled brain conjured figures of himself not as a man but as an ugly beast marred with gray-gold scales and long pointed nails of darkest night that quickened to do mischief against the strange world. His eyes were black as obsidian and his teeth were dappled black and yellow adding to his horrendous figure. He lurked like a beastly specter in the cold halls of a grand castle tucked away in the shadow of a jagged mountain away from life and goodness.

Loneliness engulfed his black heart as he wandered the rooms that seemed so familiar yet so distant. His eyes brimmed with heaviest regret with every dark moment alone in the confines of the gray stone citadel.

The dreams, for surely they must only be dreams, he concluded tactfully with what little reasoning remained in his mind, ran by in a whirlwind as though they were memories locked deeply in the reassess of his fogged mind.

Through every moment as the strange, scaled creature, Belle was there. Her fond smiles were just as warm and her laughter just as lovely to his monstrous senses.

He dreamed she was a slave working for him in the massive castle tidying up forgotten rooms, washing his laundry, and keeping hoards of junk he had collected safe and free of grime. He dreamed of kindness and companionship and a chipped cup he secretly cherished, and suddenly callousness and uncertainty with each new look she afforded him.

Uncertainty brooked in his sordid heart with each day she allotted him companionship in the ominous stronghold. Why did she treat him so well? Why was she so tender to him when she had no cause to bestow her kindness and friendship upon him?

The events seemed almost real to his fevered mind. Each image was as a memory lodged in some locked, long forgotten sarcophagus of his brain. Something was amiss with the pictures in his thoughts, he knew on what little level of understanding he kept in the darkness. The images to a degree were real.

The last image came on a dark night with the pregnant moon hidden behind a veil of thick clouds. Stars twinkled like diamonds from the titanic windows that remained open and revealed past their thick velveteen drapes. Some how, even the open windows were a memory of her. He sat spinning vapidly at an ancient wooden spinning wheel, turning stalks of straw into glittering strands of gold.

Plaintive melancholy wallowed in his eyes as though he had lost something precious. And then, she, his Belle, radiant as the sun through a storm, traipsed inside the lonely crypt of a castle. He tried to stifle a relieved, exuberant grin but the effort was in vain when she was involved in any way imaginable.

Somehow, he could tell her arrival was fantastic in some fashion though he could not reason why. Though he heard no words he knew instinctively the beastly figure of him was jubilant beyond all mortal reason she was back under the ominous shadow of the castle.

Pulling down her cloak hood, she sat a tawny straw wicker basket on a table and padded over to him with a bright smile.

Their mouths moved with out sound, but he seemed to know every word spoken from his thin lips and her red mouth. She spoke of a deal for a story and he had replied with saddened words of a pain that made him feel a true ache deep in his thin, sunken chest.

Her beautiful features grew tender then as she leaned closer to him in the dimness of the large, lonely room. He felt drawn to her as a foolish moth skirting the dancing flames of the fire in the hearth before them. Her assiduous hands pressed against either side of his grotesque face as she drifted closer, ignorant or perhaps not caring of his scaled beastliness.

In the quiet, eternal moment, her supple lips pressed tenderly against hard, cruel mouth.

Warmth that felt nearly real rippled through the gang lord's prone body. Pureness swept through his form as though the kiss drew poison from his blood and set a startling brightness to his black heart.

The barbaric monster in his dream sighed blissfully, but something was amiss, his horrendous skin was fading from the toad-like hue. The power he felt in him subdued to a trickle. He felt weak and helpless and crippled and afraid, so, so afraid.

In an instant, he shot up from the wheel as though burned by her soft kiss. The stool clattered away as he towered over the beauty like the barbaric beast he was. Greenish-gray skin glimmered even uglier in the guttering flames of the hearth as his monstrous scales clambered back over his skin like some foul disease wrought from his shriveled soul.

Murder burned as bright red embers in his black orbs with the fury of hades. What emotions roiled in his heart all turned to bile that clung thickly in his throat.

Grabbing the beauty's slender shoulders, he roared furiously into her face and for the first time in he heard the monster that was himself speak harsh cruel words he knew were not true.

"_No one can ever love me!" _

A sharp gasp fell from the gang lord's lips as he broke through the veil of restless unconsciousness as the last word rang in his ears. The scream of the beast was akin to a hand viciously tugging him from the dark repose shrouded in smothering shrouds over him. He felt as though some magical force heard the hated cry and scooped him away from the forbidden chamber of things not to be recalled.

Blood thundered luridly through his ears as he greedily sucked down stiflingly warm air to calm his frantic heart. Confused, his hands clutched at the light gray blanket atop him as he tried to gather himself back to his usual calmness. His body felt sticky and coated with sweat through what little adorned his skin.

Maple brown eyes roaming frantically, he could not help but think something amiss other than the dreams. Staring up he found not the ceiling of his bed or home but a stained stucco roof staring back at him. Dun brown water stains proliferated the ceiling and in the corner of his eye a bit of the roofing was open revealing thick yellow fluff stumbling from the thin hole.

Though the room about him was strange, the bed or couch under him was vastly uncomfortable. Knotted lumps dug into his back and pointing steel stabbed at the ridges his spine like knives prodding him further awake.

Where was he? Was a rival gang holding him hostage in a safe house? Certainly the place could not be a household for anyone decent.

A tired sigh crossed his lips as he let his mind focus on all possibilities. Combing a hand through his straggly tresses, the gang lord forced calm upon himself. Panicking especially in the hands of a vengeful enemy would do no good for anyone.

Groaning lowly, the fiend forced himself to sit up to at least view his surroundings. Dizziness engulfed his swamped mind with the attempt of the simple action. He felt weak as though all his body was drained of any energy.

Abruptly, hot lances of utter pain bloomed into his arm as he struggled to recline on his elbows. Vibrant streaks of agony rippled through his flesh as he but brushed his arm against the faded orange couch. A haggard cry lodged raggedly in his throat at the torment crackling in him. There was only a few times in his life he felt such pain, but out of all of them, the torment in his arm ranked a close second.

Slumping back in defeat to the uncomfortable couch the gang lord stifled a vile curse under his breath. How had he harmed his arm?

Even as the thought fell from his confused contemplation, the memories of his situation came shooting back into his mind with the force of a lightening flash. The memories of the day surged back in precise detail. He had been shot by a distraught fellow at the death of Guy Stone. Emma Swann left him to die and in last desperation he had called his Belle.

Realization blared through the injured fiend at the sudden thought of where he was. Surely the run down, bedraggled place couldn't be… but… was the ramshackle dwelling her home?

Forcing himself up no matter the pain, the gang lord gazed intently at his sparse surroundings. Autumn light slipped from behind cream hued mildewed curtains on the two windows in the apartment. Gray walls barren of paint or wall paper reminded the fiend of a dungeon of old. A rickety coffee table next to him, the miserable couch he rested on, and a few dingy kitchen appliances in the small cooking space were mostly the only objects in the spartan quarters.

Swiveling his head about the room for a better view, his eyes found a beaten up dark blue lazy chair in a shadowed corner of the room. The chair looked much more a shabby lump, but tucked in the miniscule corduroy chair rested Belle.

The beauty slept curled up tightly upon the chair as though hiding. Her knees were tucked up to her chest and her head rested to the left as she slept in uncomfortable repose. Dark umber hair cascaded freely down her slender shoulders glimmering with the suns rays. A two sizes to big gray sweat shirt and a pair of jean shorts adorned her body in an at ease sort of fashion. To the gang lord, she looked messy and tired and perfect in every way imaginable.

Part of him could well imagine her in the kitchen just as she was, sleepy and in need of tea to start the day. He could readily picture her like so on rainy days where she was too lazy to even get dressed but rather stay as she was with a book and watch the rain.

Abruptly, as the thought surfaced the fiend cursed himself roundly for the track his mind diverged upon. A dark grimace etched his lips as he turned away from her beauty. Closing his eyes tightly he forced to banish the thoughts from his mind. Now was not the time to be admiring her, he knew full well, nor any other time. He was laying on a rough couch, an arm bound neatly with bloody bandages, and in a strange place all mingled with the fact that he did not clearly know what had occurred!

Gathering himself as best he could, the fiend cloaked his confusion and pain in his cold carapace of old. If nothing else, he could seem the same unshakeable fiend. "Miss French." The gang lord grumbled lowly to awaken her. He needed more than anything to come to the bottom of what had happened.

Annoyance traced his features as she did not stir from her sedate slumber. "Miss French!" He snapped tersely, hoping the paper thin walls did not carry his voice aloft to prying ears.

Jumping slightly, the beauty rankled awake at the sound of his reprisal. Her bleary blue orbs blinked owlishly as though she had dreamt the voice barking at her to get up. Exhaustion marbled upon her lovely features, telling of many a restless night.

Guilt welled in his heart he had awakened her from what looked to be the first good sleep she'd had in years. Stoically pushing back the regret, he allowed every bit of callousness to gird him. He could not let his guard down, not yet.

Slowly, her eyes flickered over the couch in an all too regular motion. All remnants of sleep fled from her azure orbs as she saw him away and aright. "Mr. Gold." The sleepy beauty shook her thick coppery mane as she relaxed her body. "You're awake." She informed him obviously. Relief dripped lightly from her mouth, her lips curving into a small hint of a smile.

Frowning darkly, the gang lord poked lightly at his bandaged arm with his free hand. "What happened? Where am I?"

"My place." Belle informed the fiend.

Her cheeks flushed slightly at the all too well known fact of the derelict home. Rumor around town told that Gold possessed the richest, most ostentatious house in town. How disgusted he must find her paltry apartment lacking many luxuries he touted through his home.

Clearing her throat she continued calmly. "And as for what happened, you were shot."

"I can see that." He carefully inched himself to a sitting position. Breath heaved heavily from his body even at the extra effort of the simple act. Glaring at his surroundings he closed his eyes. "I need to know the who and the why."

Red tinged the beauty porcelain cheeks as she stiffly stood from her repose on the chair. "Jefferson already found the man. He was a close friend of Guy Stone. In the end Jefferson tracked him down and well… lived up to his reputation." She rubbed the back of her neck bashfully.

"Jefferson knows better than to kill without my orders." The gang lord groused coolly, already concluding the words she deemed not to say.

"Don't blame Jefferson." She countered quietly, her azure eyes glittering with regretful turmoil. "I could have told him not too but I didn't."

Confusion and surprised traced the fiends weathered features at her softly admitted words. Jefferson had actually listened to another person and she had given an order to kill? "After the issue with Guy Stone why did you have such a thing done?" Questioned the injured gang lord suspiciously. Nothing made any sense with her. She abhorred slaughter, yet admitted, if not regretfully, she had let another die.

"You would have rooted him out eventually." Belle shrugged in lugubrious reply. "His death would have been a lot worse had you gotten your hands on him. And by Jefferson's telling your assailant was deranged from a toxic mix of drugs, grief, and bragging he had shot you to all the hang outs in town."

"So you made an example before anyone could try to overthrow me and look for my head." He filled in thoughtfully.

Nodding dutifully, the beauty allowed a faint, regretful smile to etch her lips. The price was a serrated spear in her soul, but the killing had to be done to protect him. "I couldn't let them think he was telling the truth. Jefferson wanted to know should he wait for you to personally get to him or should he finish the job. I'm sorry if I overstepped what I was to do but I didn't know when you would awaken."

In utmost truth, though she didn't say aloud, the shooting had violently jolted her out of the last foul dregs of melancholy from the killing of Guy Stone. Seeing the gang lords blood turned her away from what she had done to Stone and brought her back to the world of life again. The town and problems once more came back into focus with grim acceptance and a fervent will to not be extinguished in a mad grab for power by other gangs.

In the moment of kneeling in his sticky, cold blood, what she truly was came barreling into her chest with the force of a truck hitting her dead center. She was a gangster and life flowed in a strange way where death usually meant safety.

"No no, you did well. I would have done the same." Gold assured and waved his hand dismissively at her. At least during everything she had held the tactical wherewithal to make certain his power did not slip with his consciousness. The move was an expert one, worthy of any veteran in his criminal standing. She played a dangerous game smart and came out the victor.

Laughter fell half heartedly from her pink lips. "I just got lucky." She replied humbly.

Lucky in a multitude of ways, she noted inwardly; lucky she had gotten there in time, lucky Jefferson had picked up, and even lucky she had made the journey with her wounded cargo in tow without anyone noticing the gang lord was in her home.

At the thought of her dilapidated apartment again, she turned her eyes away from him in embarrassment. Pulsing heat rose to the beauty cheeks in an inferno washing away any pride for his small apartment. Shame thrilled through her form like a whisper against her skin telling of the inadequacy.

"Are you hungry?" She inquired as she walked to the pathetically small kitchen, eager to do anything to take her mind off her apartment.

Grunting, the fiend tenuously slid off the worn couch. The gold handled cane rested nearby in easy reach waiting for him to pluck the helpmate up. His body gathered strength in his limbs as he tried to rise. "Quite a bit, Dearie. How long was I out?"

"About two days." The beauty measured as she rummaged through the stocked cabinets. "Dr. Whale stopped by a few times, per Jefferson's… request."

"At the end of a pistol shoved into his spine no doubt." The gang lord chuckled mirthlessly. Sobering, he fought to rise and attempt something to stretch his aching muscles. "What did the good doctor do?" He inquired dryly, his body having no love for the butcher who hated him.

Cracking a few eggs, the beauty heaved her shoulders in a shrug. "He came to check you out. I lured him here by convincing him my father needed a house call, and Jefferson did the rest when Whale saw you lying on the couch. You needed blood so I managed to smuggle some out of the blood bank and bring your type here. After a few stitches and the transfusion, you were stable and we sent Dr. Whale home."

"And you made certain he has nothing to relate to any officials?" He queried intently as he rose unsteadily to his feet. His body wobbled upon tremulous, quaking knees as he managed tentatively on his own two feet. Grabbing his gold hilted cane near by, the extra support was a welcome as he took faltering steps and stretching for the first time in what seemed like endless days.

Belle nodded absently. "He'll stay quiet. I told Jefferson to drop Whale off at the morgue. Guys friend's body was waiting when they arrived." She shook her head. "No, he won't say anything I'm sure of that."

Listening to her, Gold could not help but trust her words spoken like any confident thug. She had done a fine job keeping him from the line of fire and tending him in a tenuous balance.

Reaching the paltry kitchen, the gang lord hobbled to a rickety looking wooden chair at the table. Gingerly sliding down in the seat, he let his eyes wander the shabby apartment once more. He had known the places he rented were vile little cockroach hovels but he had never cared until now. Now he knew his Belle lived in the shacks he doled out as living arrangements and he like that not at all.

"You have a good job as the town librarian." Gold finally blurted the words that lingered in his mind. His brow furrowed slightly as he proffered his hand about that ancient looking quarters. "Why do you live here?" He didn't meant to be caustic or rude, but the thought of her living in such a ramshackle place confounded him.

Staring intently at the cooking eggs and popping bacon, the beauty nudged her head to a half cracked door in the back of the apartment. "My papa needed caring for after his flower business went into the ground. He's always had poor health then his lungs got sick and he had a stroke and by some hand of fate we had a miracle that he's even alive and breathing at all. Medical bills started piling one on top of the other and his medications got more expensive so I moved here to help save money."

Life was a trial taking care of someone so sick, but he was her papa what else could she have done?

"A dutiful daughter then." The words rang bitterly in the fiend's accented voice. Oh course Belle was dutiful and kind; she was a good, honest person before he dragged her through the slough of smuggling and crime.

"Belle!" A gurgled, couching voice echoed suddenly from the back of the singular room. Raucous coughs sailed from the medical filled bedroom like choking crows. The bedsprings in the room creaked squeakily telling of movement from one who found such actions difficult. "Belle who's in the kitchen with you?

Startled by the sudden wakefulness of her dearest father, the beauty seemed like a child caught in disobedience. How would she explain the gang lord sitting at their kitchen table like a new room mate?

Footsteps cautiously thumped down the small, barren hall at a vapid pace. In the light that filtered through the curtained windows the features of the former flower salesmen came into view.

A glossy black cane trembled in his thick left hand as he shuffled along with dull blue slippered feet into the small kitchen. His hair was tinged flour white betwixt the ample brown giving him a younger appearance. Suspicion danced in his bright orbs as his eyes went from the beauty to the table. His eyes widened widely at the sight sitting before him.

A cold smile stretched upon the fiend's lips as he stared coldly at the invalid. "Mr. French, good morning." His words seemed rimmed with ice.

Taken aback the flower salesmen blinked in shock. He stared as though he stood in the room with a demon. "Belle…." His words stammered through thick lips. "Belle do you know who this is…?"

"Yes, papa." The beauty managed three plates to the kitchen table. Laying the heaped plates out neatly, she pulled a chair back for her father, her heart hoping he would be disinclined to cause a fuss.

"Then you should know he's not welcome here." His features hardened in stone.

A scoff fell from the gang lord's lips as he rolled his eyes. "Come now Mr. French let's allow old grudges to die shall we?"

"You _beat _me." Moe fumed between grit teeth. Dappled red liberally swathed his corpulent, pallid face as though blotted with crimson beneath the flesh.

Canting his head to the left, the fiend parried insouciantly. "Because you stole from me."

"You were the start of taking away my business!" He sputtered in between wet, heavy coughs. "A business I worked my hands to the bone to make successful!"

"That's enough, Papa." Belle intervened. Walking between the two the beauty guided her father to his chair. Her words were soft and caring as she soothed his ire. "You sit down and have something to eat. What's done is done lets try not to wake the whole neighborhood with screaming, shall we."

Conceding, the invalid managed his grumbling to a soft murmur. Displeased, he pouted childishly but brooked no further argument. Though he certainly hated the gang lord, and noticed the bandage, he was not going to push the boundaries of his patience or inquire upon his suspicions. Who knew what the gangster would do if he sought revenge for a foolish tongue.

"So why are you here?" French stabbed at the fluffy eggs vehemently.

Looking to the beauty sitting next to him, the fiend shrugged smoothly. Only a hint of pain ached in his arm as he sipped his juice. "A mistake in rent." He lied expertly. "I'm hoping we can settle my error with moving you both to better accommodations."

Shocked, both father and daughter looked to the gang lord as though he had fallen into madness. The offer was a generous one, seeing that they lived in squalor barely fit for rats.

"That's generous of you." The former flower salesmen admitted in a grousing grunt.

"Not at all." The gang lord looked from over the rim of his glass to the beauty. "In fact I think I owe your daughter this due."

~8~8~

"You didn't have to do that." Belle proclaimed in a whisper as she led the fiend down the steps to his car. Arm holding on to his own, she gently led the way through the perilous decline to reach his expensive automobile.

The sleek black vehicle was nestled in a narrow alleyway behind a large, rusted garbage dumpster away from prying eyes. She hadn't known where else to stash the sedan and her only hope was no one came snooping about.

His cane tapped a steady rhythm on the rotting and distorted and warped boards as he slowly descended the worn stairs. His straggly, brown unkempt hair fell about his face curtaining his grateful, pain etched features from her eyes. "You saved my life Belle. You took a gangster into your home and managed a perilous situation all by yourself in a world you are a novice too. The least I can do is grant you a decently good place to live. A place you can have a bed all your own and basic commodities."

"That's kind of you." The beauty flushed darkly, unable to hide her gratitude.

Silence reigned betwixt the two as they journey to the car. The quiet was a wall built to stifle any other words though so much needed to be spoken.

"Why did you save me, Belle?" He asked lowly finally, unable to banish the question that lingered like an old memory in his mind.

Turning to him, she offered a shrug. "Helping you was the right thing to do."

"Not at all." He argued softly having no dissolution of all he'd done. "I am a gangster, a blackmailer, I plunged you into a life of crime. Out of everyone you had the least reason to aid me and the most to curry my death to the highest bidder."

Troubled thoughts glimmered in her azure orbs at his words. In a way he was correct. Had he died she would have been free of all debt to him. Someone else would have claimed his properties and the rent would have gone down. Life could have gone on with her name clean and the summer of rampant crimes at and end.

A sigh tumbled past her lips as she hauled away old black trash bags hiding away the car and yanked the empty dumpster away on the squeaky wheel. "I don't know why I came to your aid. I wasn't going to, but something…changed my mind." She admitted warily.

"A big payout?" He ventured coldly. After all, who would not expect to get a handsome sum for his full safety and care out of the hands of those who wished him ill?

Laughter fell from her lips at the thought. "No, not for money." She confirmed humorously as she kicked the last blockade away from his car.

Digging into her pocket she produced the keys to his black vehicle. The sooner he was gone and back into his un-challenged position of power as the bull of the crime world the better for all of them.

A small smile tilted his lips as he gratefully took her hand in his. Electricity shocked through him at the tender touch. The same shock he felt in the dream when the purity of her kiss against the beastliness that beat back the evil, lingered on her fingertips. But this time, he made no move to back away and scream in her face.

"Thank you, Miss French." His warm brown eyes burrowed into her soft sky blue orbs. For long moments he stayed lost in her eyes. His mind roamed her endless cerulean depths as though they were a trail leading him back to a secret room locked in his mind. Her eyes shimmered as though fire danced in their glaze, but what that a trick of the light?

As quick as the enchantment came, the spell was gone, leaving him Mr. Gold the debtor and she only his underling. Looking down, he found they still held hands.

Coughing awkwardly, the fiend slipped the keys out of her grip. Not knowing where to put his eyes he stared at the wet tires stuck with old pieces of paper and plastic. "Again thank you." He stammered.

"Think nothing of it." Belle recanted as awkwardly as he. Abruptly her hand rested gently on his wounded arm. Her touch was a feather banishing any notion of pain. "Take care of your arm." She cautioned softly with a genuine smile.

Nodding dumbly, the fiend entered his car in a stiff fashion. Mind dazed of new emotions boiling in him, the gang lord slowly drove out and back to his place into the criminal underworld, his head reeling with thoughts that should not have been.


	9. Dinner

Cool fronds of frost glittered like freshly unearthed diamonds upon the world of Storybrooke in the first truly cold morning of the season. Ruddy crimson adorned the faces of those out in the refreshing chill to long, and thick coats were dug out of moth ball smelling closets with the thrill of cold. Milky opaque vapors billowed in thin streams from every smiling mouth out on the streets.

The cold came on hard and relentless, but the hearts of Storybrooke were light and warm as the summer's zephyrs. Odd talk and whispers warmed the belly of the townsmen light blistering suns rays. Rumors blazed in a veritable inferno about the town that Mr. Gold was finally dead!

Of course, many did not put much stock in the rumors or the hope filled voices of younger souls, but the fact that the leader of the Dark One's hadn't been seen in days poured hope into even the bleakest heart. And, some consoled, even if he wasn't a rotting carcass tossed somewhere in a ditch _something_, all knew, had occurred to the gang lord.

The thought, while just a small spark, stirred glee in even the grumpiest of souls. Smiles abounded on the streets in a silent merriment. Happiness glowed warmly in every heart and spurred pleasantness in the hardest of souls.

In the jubilation of everything, one might have thought the day was a hometown celebration.

Looking out through the bullet proof glass of the squat police station windows, a small smile twitched upon Emma's normally frowning lips. Her eyes roved over the bustling town leisurely, watching the townsfolk on their ways. Part of her was surprised someone hadn't erected a few floats celebrating the death of Mr. Gold, the reviled, the hated, the loathed. She almost expected children to be let out of school early and shops to close in the sheer joy of his demise. The thought of being free could provoke unusual actions in any heart, she knew well.

Relief sighed through her strong body as she padded vapidly to her awaiting chair. Her hand grabbed the tall mug of cocoa on her desk as she slid down in her seat. Leaning back in the rolling chair, the content deputy lifted her feet to the steel desk. Crossing her black boots at the ankle, she sniffed the aroma of the whipped cream heaped and cinnamon cocoa allowing the fragrances to overtake her.

Heavenly scents of warm chocolate mingled with the spicy aroma of cinnamon wafted through her senses. The cocoa had been a gift delivered from Ruby and she was determined to reward herself for dealing with the dangerous problem Mr. Gold.

"Bad news." Graham announced soberly as he entered the tiny police head quarters right as Emma began to take a tenuous sip. Agitated, he tossed down a sheaf of papers in a manila folder on her gray iron desks, his lips curving into an irksome frown.

A hint of wariness traced the deputy's lovely features as she straightened in the chair. Could there be no rest for even ten minutes?

Regret of a missed treat of hot cocoa sparkled in her lapis eyes as she pushed the mug away in favor of duty. "What's the problem?" Her alert gaze glanced at the papers half out of their manila folder.

"Apparently the rumors were wrong, Gold isn't dead." The sheriff revealed sourly, his body radiating fury. Dark frustration donned his handsome, rugged features with an inkling of disappointment at the awry news. He seemed akin to a hunter who just missed the killing blow upon a prey who now fled out of reach. "A tip just came in that claimed Mr. Gold was heading to his home. And a body has just been registered at the morgue belonging to one of Guy Stone's long time friends."

Black curses fell from Emma's curved lips in a litany of vulgar profanity that churned through her mind. Of all the darkest luck! Anger seethed in her soul turning her once cheerful mood bleak. Cheated rage danced in her orbs with the strength of an inferno. Gold had disappeared from his shop, but that hadn't been surprising to her. She had assumed vengeful gangs would take his body, or that someone in the Dark One's would collect his carcass to prevent any tracing of ill doing.

Now atop two bullets to the arm and another dead, he was alive and free and walking about causing more terror then before! Now people were apt to think even bullets couldn't bring him down!

"The bull precedes he reputation then." Emma spat caustically. Her mouth a dour line. How could he have survived?

Slumping tiredly into his dark leather chair, the sheriff allowed a sigh to cross his bearded lips. A calloused hand rubbed tiredly against his furrowed brow as he stared at the hefty piles upon his desk. "You told me he was dead, Emma." He reminded her expertly.

"I thought he was." The deputy admitted dourly. He certainly looked dying when she had left him there to his fate to bleed like a stuck pig.

"But how did you even know to make such an assumption?" His voice brimmed with curious suspicion.

Curses danced explicitly inside the blondes mind at his dubious words. Forcing herself not to flinch, her lips pulled into a wry half smile. "Just luck I guess." She dodged awkwardly.

"That's more than luck." Graham rebuffed darkly. Curiosity lingered in his wolf gray eyes like an arrow of accusation aimed at her heart. "You knew before the rumor surfaced didn't you?"

Caught, the blonde raised her hands defenselessly. "I did nothing to him." She swore. "I was there when he was shot and I… maybe just walked away." No remorse hedged her voice, only sorrow for getting caught at the deed.

"Emma." He groaned in long-suffering misery. Shutting his eyes tight, he tried to conceal his ire to her. "You were there when a person was shot and you didn't help?"

She shrugged carelessly, her heart cold. "This is Mr. Gold we're talking about."

"That doesn't matter." Debated the sheriff staunchly, his features stern and rebuking. "Do you know how that makes us look? We can't pick and choose whom we save. Your first duty was to help the injured."

An entire mess laid before him from her actions. Her one deed now sparked a downfall that had to be contended with. The mayor would have to be brought in and questions asked.

"My first duty is to keep the town safe!" Emma snapped back tartly, her eyes blazing blue flames. "Mr. Gold is the biggest threat, letting him die is keeping the town out of danger from him."

Shaking his head the handsome sheriff leaned dejectedly over the gray desk. "He'll spread word of this little by little. A rumor will will spark, laced with truth and others will distort what occurred. A plague will pop up out of this turning the entire situation info a fiasco that never was. They'll say you were paid off to walk away after he was shot. They'll say you're just in another rival gang. He'll make sure to smear your name that no one will trust you and hate the sheriff's station even more. He knows how to use situations like this; he knows how to use everything. "

A dark frown perched upon her lips as his logic seeped into her head like a foul ooze. As much as she loathed admitting his words, Graham was telling truth or at least instilling a vile dose of well need logic. Gold would manipulate the situation and help turn distrust and more disgust from the townsmen to those they sought to protect. The shot gangster would use hyperbole to the extreme and paint them just as different types of himself with a worse agenda in their hearts. The townspeople would be even more reluctant to report his ill deeds in making their jobs so much the harder.

Rubbing a hand across her features, the blonde sank dismally into her chair. True regret molded her features as she rubbed her temple with her fingertips. How could things be so complicated? "Okay you have a point, so what do we do now?"

"Now." Licking his lips sorrowfully, he turned to the barred windows of the tiny ill equipped station. Melancholy glittered in his gray eyes with what had to happen next. "Now, Emma I'm sorry, but I can't let a deputy stay on with this type of thing hanging over their head till the matter is cleared."

Abruptly, Emma bolted in her chair as though shocked. Taken aback, the blonde stared wide eyed at the sheriff, her eyes marred with disbelief. "You mean I'm off the force?"

"I can't just let you still hold that kind of power, Emma." Graham explained sadly. "As much as I hate to pull you, having you still here would be worse."

Shaking her blonde tresses as though coming out of an enchantment, the deputy calmed him. "I understand all that, but I think you finally just gave me a solution to our problem here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Thin lines of consternation carved upon his brow.

"I've been working this all the wrong way." Emma mused to herself more than the sheriff. Focusing back to Graham, a small smile lined her stoic visage. "I do my best work as a bounty hunter. Some one who skims the edges of the law at all costs to bring in a wanted person. With the badge I was much more restricted, but now that I'm off the roster…."

Realization dawn on the sheriff like the first light to a dismally dark room. "You can get your hands dirty again." He concluded in a conspiratorial whisper.

Nodding, her smile widened from ear to ear in grim delight. Eagerness flashed like stars in her azure eyes. Plans ranged freely in her mind with her force unshackled. Things could get very dangerous, very fast. "That's my favorite way to play. Let's see how well Gold can stand up to me without the badge in the way."

~8~8~

Lovely warm evening rays of sunshine cascaded grandly through the large bay windows in Belle's new spacious living room. Motes of pale dust whispered through the air telling over a home newly occupied. The window seal was a large panel of oak wood and big enough for a person to sit comfortably to read upon in the sunshine. Plush dark red pillows edged the sides making the window look more than inviting.

The home Mr. Gold granted was massive to them. Warm russet hues painted on the walls and the burgundies of the homes comely furniture mingled well with the falls cold days. Appliances that looked right out the boxes filled the kitchen and the living room.

Part of the grateful beauty had assumed he would have given them a modestly decent apartment unit, but he had surprised them with a small home he owned a little ways out of the town proper.

Three large bedrooms rested in the back of the house, lavishly gilt with luxuries of blankets and thickly carved wardrobes. There was plenty of space in the rooms and she finally had a yard just as she always wanted. The home was a dream plucked from her tired mind and placed into reality. Everything about the house was lovely and huge and grand and welcoming.

"It's a nice little place." Moe remarked in a slight cough as he shuffled quietly along the wooden floors.

Laughter fell gaily from Belle's lips at the understatement of his unimpressed words. Humor and joy all mingled into one glorious orb of elation danced like bright swirling sparks in her eyes. Wrapping her arms around his thick neck she hugged him tightly. "This home is much more than that, Papa, it's a dream come true."

"All this because of some mistake in rent?" He pressed delicately broaching the tenuous issue. Though he was sickly and oft asleep or induced with medicine, even he could see something did not fit.

"Mr. Gold is a fair man." The beauty lied tactfully showing not a hint of indecision at her untruthfulness. The more he did not know to protect him from her foul deeds the better. There was no reason to bring her father into the occurrences of what happened and the how.

Opening his mouth, he began to protest, but snapped his mouth close. Who was he too ask questions when he could look away and take comfort in a soft bed and not worry of where his daughter slept. Belle no longer had to sacrifice for simple necessities or sleep on an old, lumpy couch. No, he determined inwardly, he would not question too closely.

Abruptly a shrill, muffled ring penetrated the tranquil, glad quiet. Digging the sleek black phone of her pocket, the beauty strode quickly out of hearing rang from her papa.

"Mr. Gold?" Her voice was a tenuous whisper as she put the phone to her ear. Instinctively checking her surroundings out of habit, she tucked away into a shadowed corner. He hadn't called in a week, something she hoped would mean he was recuperating well.

"Eight o'clock." His heavily accented voice declared neatly. "62nd Mountain lane."

Silently detailing the instruction to heart, the beauty listened calmly without a hint of trepidation. After her first month she learned all to well he would only offer explanation when the fact suited him.

Turning a corner the beauty made certain her father was well away. "Anything else?" Her voice dropped to a clandestine whisper.

"Wear something… nice." He replied at length, the words almost uncertain coming from his lips.

In all her experience with the gang lord, _that _took her off guard.

Surprise flickered faintly upon her lovely visage as she repeated the words in her mind. Shaking her head from the strange words she focused on the matter at hand. "Alright, anything else I should know?"

"Jefferson will be there to pick you up. Don't be late." He finished softly.

Before she could inquire further, the phone clicked dead. A steady dial tone hummed from the speaker, coaxing her thoughts down the trail of utmost confusion.

Leaning against a wall, the beauty allowed a sigh to escape her lips. She had just gotten used to his orders. Now what new command was he tossing her? And, she could not help but ponder, what was on 62nd Mountain Street?

~8~8~

His home, Belle screamed frantically in the depths of her bright soul! He had invited her to his home!

Staring on the window, the beauty gaped in awe of the salmon pink manse belonging to the austere gang lord.

Stately and grand, there was only one person in all of Storybrooke the home could have belonged to. Tucked behind a grove of knobby cedars and plaintive pines the home stood away from the main roadway against prying eyes. Any cars that descended the rocky road trail were soon enough hid effectively by the low, thickly clustered coppices and the distance away from the street.

The house was painted an odd dull pink hue that was infamous in the county. Lights lit the downstairs, but the upstairs of the massive home was black as a towers dungeon room. The lawn was meticulous to the stalk, but bereft of any trees or shrubbery or ornament of any kind. White marble steps led up to the purple door of his home, giving his entrance the main attention through all the strangeness.

The wheels of Jefferson's sedan slowly crunched to a halt as he parked at the front entrance of the fiend's grandiose home. Dressed in his normal black velvet jacket and hat, he looked the figure or a long ago coachman maneuvering a carriage.

"Here we are, Miss French." Jefferson announced madly to his passenger, his lips arched into a small grin.

Opening the door with one hand and the mirror at the visor with the other, the beauty fiddled a bit with her hair for last minute touch ups. "Thanks, Jefferson." She replied absently, her mind dwelling on other notions as she plucked at a few rebellious chestnut strands.

Turning to him suddenly, a look of questioning danced warily in her azure depths. Worry traced nearly imperceptible lines in her lovely visage as she clutched the black wrap about her shoulders. "Do you know what this is all about?"

"Not in the least." A mischievous grin lined his face betraying he knew exactly what was occurring.

Rolling her eyes exasperatingly, she dipped out of the car. He would not betray what Mr. Gold had in mind for all the money in the world, not when there was too much fun to be had. "Much help you are. Jefferson."

"You know, Belle." He leaned to the passenger seat to look at her out the door. His eyes glimmered with a hint of sanity and melancholy all at once. "I'm a taken man, but I have to say you look absolutely beautiful tonight."

Fire surged to her porcelain cheeks with his observation. She was not a vain woman by any means but hadn't dressed so nicely in what seemed like eons. Everything once revolved around working hard and long enough to make ends meet. She hadn't time to look lovely when there was much to be done to keep her and her pap afloat.

A smile faintly traced her lips at his kind words. "Thanks, Jefferson."

Nodding succinctly, the hatter once more slipped into his insane gaze. Winking roguishly, he put the car back in gear.

Closing the door, the car sped off down the graveled lane like a roaring monster from nightmare, leaving Belle alone under the shadow of the gang lord's home.

Calm washed over the beauty as she took a moment to gather herself. Eyes pinioned upon the manse she allowed courage to well in her heart. No matter what he had planned she could handle anything he doled out.

Filling her lungs with the cold Maine air, the beauty briskly tramped up the steps. Her hand curled to knock on the door right as the portal swung vapidly open, and for a moment, caught in the interim of surprise, both gazed at the other. Astonishment filled their eyes as they stared at one another as though seeing them for the first time.

To Belle, the notorious gang lord looked even better dressed than he normally did if such a fantastic thing was possible. An older pin suit of dark blue donned is sinewy frame showing off an elegance of time gone by. Gold cufflinks in the shape of arrows glinted on his wrists. His age only helped define his natty suit and bring a strange romantic quality to him.

For the gang lord he could not stop staring. Her form entranced him like a hypnotic spell grasping for domination of his brain. A small black dress hung skin tight to her body. The dress had to be painted on, he surmised in amazement, for there seemed no way a dress could fit so well to the contours of a body.

The silky fabric established every curve, but not in a gaudy fashion of tight clothing for the sake of strutting about like a strumpet he saw on the streets. A black clutch looped lightly about her right wrist. Her hair tumbled freely down her back in a mass of amber honey curls that seemed to hold sunshine even in darkness.

She dressed simply at yet _wondrously_.

"You look." They both began simultaneously, their words breathless as their eyes searched one another.

Nervousness smiles clambered to their lips with the sudden embarrassment. Did the evening have to start off so awkward?

Gathering her courage, the beauty smiled softly to the gang lord. "You look very handsome Mr. Gold." She complemented sweetly.

A smile tilted his lips. "And you, Dearie look utterly ravishing." Shaking his head as though just recalling something, he moved from the door and proffered his hand to the inside. "Won't you come in from the cold?"

Warm, dully glowing light assailed the beauty as she stepped into the massive house of Mr. Gold. The foyer was in itself was an exquisite place. Vases stood on pedestals and thick exotic rugs lined the floors. Crystal, or perhaps real diamonds, glittered off a chandelier above her making the light twinkled down softly.

Fragrant scents of chicken and herbs and flavorful sauces lingered on the warm air. In one of the rooms a softly glowing fire guttered lowly in the hearth making the home seem much more inviting than on the outside.

Clearing her throat lightly, the beauty fiddled with her purse anxiously, unable to meet his eyes. "I have to ask what's tonight about. Your call was so strange."

"I just wanted to say thank you." The fiend replied casually, his words easy and free of trepidation he more than felt brewing like a summer squall inside his black heart. "So I thought a nice dinner was in order."

"You cooked?" Astonishment gingerly hedged her gentle voice.

Dry almost sad laughter escaped the gang lord's lips. "When you're in this business, you learn to cook for yourself mostly. You become suspicious of everything, especially with people that hate you." Merriment danced like flames in his eyes as he motioned down the hall. "But don't worry, I'm a fairly decent cook. You won't choke on my food." He promised in a chuckle.

Dim light filtered down over them as he led her through the large manse. Trinkets lined the walls and each room looked as luxurious as the next.

As they turned a corner where the flavorful scents hailed, Belle stared at the grand room. The rich heavily craved cheery table sat in the epicenter of the room like an oblong eye. The top was covered with a cream colored cloth and heaped with heavenly smelling foods. Dishes emblazoned with gold and looked to cost a fortune sat ready and waiting to be served.

There were so many forks, she had no idea in which to start with. Tall candles lodged in silver holders gave off soft, relaxing light to the otherwise dim room. An ice bucket sat next to the table filled with a few bottles that looked older than the fine china awaiting their use.

"Do you drink?" He inquired curiously as they turned and entered his grand dining room.

"A little." Belle responded softly, taken by the lovely table and the ambiance the room imbued to her senses.

Limping over to a silver ice bucket, he lifted a green bottle from the cold. "Good." He looked over the faded brown label. "Then we'll have the 1905 red then."

Staring at the table, the beauty could not help but feel shocked. Amazement graced her features mingled with disbelief and the grander. "You did all this for me?"

"You saved my life, Miss French." He pulled out a chair for her, his lips perched into a smile. "I do not take those things lightly."

A deep scarlet she could not suppress tinted her cheeks as she sat down gracefully. "Well everything looks lovely." She replied having no other words to speak. He was grateful, she knew frankly, but how far did his thankfulness go?

Staring down at the table, she turned her attentions to what she should tackle first. Chicken encrusted with breadcrumbs sat in a dish while some sauce and vegetables sat in others with a smorgasbord to chose from. Half the day had been spent unpacking to their new home and she was famished. Now with the food in front of her, she found her mouth almost watering.

Pointing to a covered dish he busied himself pouring the dark red wine in his glass and then hers. "Try the gray stuff, it's delicious."

The flickering candle light glittered of her skin as she moved for the silver dish. A strange, but pleasant odor wafted from the concoction making her stomach rumble its need. As she was about to dish out the heavenly smelling food, something else caught her attention.

The thing sat at the very edge of her vision like the hint of a dream, but drew her like a coaxing sirens song. Curiosity laced her lovely features as she turned her head to a large glass case nestled in a corner of the room. At the very top of the display case set a blue and white cup on a cushion of blue velvet. The tea cup was delicately painted blue and white porcelain, but chip missed from the gilded rim.

"That chipped cup." The beauty murmured lowly to herself. Something niggled in her heart at the sight of the little ornament like an old reminiscence.

"Pardon Dearie?" The fiend turned his head up to her from his meal.

Shaking her head, she swiveled her head back to him. A look of perhaps a long forgotten memory shivered through her mind. "That… that cup where did you get it?"

"I'm not sure." He sawed gingerly at the chicken on his plate. "Seems like I've had the thing forever. I like it, the chip gives it personality."

Consternation ridged her brow as she turned back to her plate. Chewing delicately she spoke quietly. "That's odd. Feel's like I've seen it before."

Tactfully hiding his surprise, the fiend bit into his chicken thoughtfully. He had also had the feeling of knowing what the cup was when he'd come across the trinket in the back of his shop. The cup had been carefully tucked away in a small box with a golden lock.

A note written in red flamboyant, neat script laid rolled into the dredges of the cup. Tear stains sat upon the parchment almost as though they had been made that day. The yellowed, aged paper once read only three words: _"Never forget her." _

He had long lost the note, but the chipped cup kept an interest in his mind.

There had been something oddly familiar about the tea cup and he too felt drawn to the chipped trinket. "The cup was at my shop before I put it here." He softly offered explanation.

Nodding faintly, the beauty focused back on the gang lord. Maybe she could take a closer look later.

"So how are you and your father settling in?" The gang lord expertly changed the subject from the strange trinket.

Belle nodded between bites. "Very well. There is so much space. More space than I ever thought of having."

"I'm glad you enjoy." A soft, genuine smile etched his lips.

Taking a delicate sip of the fine, aged wine the beauty motioned her hand around the room. "Since we're talking about houses you have a very nice one. People always claimed this place was the biggest one in all Storybrooke. I think the rumors were true."

"I wanted my home like that." He remarked through chicken filled mouth.

Brow perched the beauty picked delicately at her plate. "Plans for a big family?"

Sorrow slashed the fiend's features at her words. Shaking his head, he forced the melancholy away. "No. I don't have any family. Not anymore."

"Oh." Belle flickered her indigo eyes away from his sorrow. Cursing herself on the inside, the beauty kicked herself from her curious fascinations. Remorse glimmered in her eyes as she turned back to him. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have asked."

He gestured his hand to her, his eyes dispelling any notion of offense. "Everything's alright. I wanted the house because the size displays my power."

"Is power everything to you?" She queried lowly, her eyes searching him. Did all his life revolve around being the master of others? Did he only care for riches and gain and nothing else, nothing of the heart or soul?

"Everything." He echoed bleakly in reply. Carefully leaning back in his chairs, his fingers pinched the stem of the wine glass. His maple brown eyes stared back at her softly, showing a rare hint of the man behind the gang lord.

Perhaps there was more, but nothing he was courageous in allowing to slip from inside his stony heart.

When she was about power was the farthest thing from his mind. The notion of controlling the underground world of crime seemed akin to a child's fantasy. She coaxed out of him a strange desire for more than to attain just ultimate control.

Sipping at the cool wine, he never took his eyes off her, his heart absorbed in her beauty. "Yes power is everything… mostly."


	10. Remembering Bravery

_A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing lovelies!_

**~8~8~**

"And so the stammering fool ended up trying to hide from me in the middle woods with nothing but his umbrella for cover." Gold chuckled impishly as he guzzled down the last precious sip of crimson wine.

A lazy smile smeared upon Belle's pink lips as he finished his humorous narrative of souls who thought he was after them. Head perched down slightly the beauty vainly trying to stash away her laughter from his humorous stories wrought from a life of being feared.

A finger absently traced the rim of her crystalline wine glass whilst she sat caught in rapt attention of his tales. Part of her knew she shouldn't have been laughing so hard at others misfortune, but the cool wine peeled away layers of decorum turning them into friendly companions with a penchant for sharing stories.

Pushing away her empty wine glass, the brown haired beauty tilted to the right in her chair. Umber hair fell rebelliously about her, framing her lovely features like a craftsman inspired figurine. Delicate hand holding up her head, she smiled crookedly at the gang lord, her eyes soft. "You must have a million stories to tell." She remarked with controlled merriment.

"Indeed I do." He dipped the green bottle to the rim of his glass hoping for another dreg of spirits. Paltry drops dribbled insipidly from the vessel, telling finally the wine was truly no more.

Mildly disappointed of the drink being gone, the beauty rubbed her bleary eyes with the back of her hand. Sleep dabbed her azure orbs like smoky blue clouds of the mountains upon her lovely cracking yawns she hid politely behind her hand fell from betwixt her spirit stained lips.

The dinner had been wholly entertaining and delightful along with him. Behind the beastly exterior of the gang lord revealed an interesting man with humor and wit and intellect that she always knew somehow was there locked behind the cold, uncaring monster.

Looking about, her eyes located the antique grandfather clock softly ticking away in a corner. The black hands pointed to a wretched hour of the night they had ended their tales upon. Shock slightly flickered through her eyes as she stared at the time. Had they truly...?

"Gold, it's one in the morning." She vapidly combed a hand through her chestnut mane.

The gang lord flicked his gaze to the clock, his dulled senses unperturbed by the hour. "So it is." He remarked blandly.

"I feel like I've only just got here but we've been talking for hours." Giggles tumbled gaily from her pink, smiling mouth at the thought. Slowly getting to her feet, she grabbed her ebony clutch on the table and wrap long tossed aside behind her chair. "I should get going. Papa will has got to be worried sick about me."

Rising briskly, not betraying a hint of any inebriation, the gang lord grabbed his cane. "I'll walk you home." He insisted softly, his limping steps measured and sturdy.

"You don't have to." The beauty walked to the front door, her senses tinged with a smatter of guilt for not helping with dishes or clean up.

Following, the fiend opened the door to the cool night. A small grin found his lips as he grabbed his thick coat and stepped out into the darkness. "It wouldn't be polite of me to allow a lady to walk home by herself. You know, _criminals _could be about and all."

Low laughter erupted from her mouth at his words. His humor did have a genuine, un-sarcastic side when he allowed.

Nodding, the beauty happily accepted his company and stepped out into the night with the gang lord.

Teeth rattling cold gripped the backwoods hamlet of Storybrooke in cruel, viselike claws as the pair exited his large faded pink manse. The trees were naked, plaintive skeletons of their once plumed glory reaching to the icy blue firmament with their bony fingers as seasons passed in the sleepy town.

A blanket of cold slumber fell over the earth, leaving the forest land and the fields to sleep their way into spring's rebirth. Each day wrought a new wave of cold that seeped to the very bone with gnashing teeth of chill. Icy winter edged the rim of the world, awaiting to unload the thick folds of snow from the firmament and awash the town with muffled banks of frost.

Slightly relaxed from his unusually toper actions, the gang lord walked her home under the softly glowing lamp lights like any gentleman of old would. Their long stroll in the dead of night was a quiet one, filled with shy silence wrought from two warm hearts and the steady tapping of his cane on the gray, leaf strewn sidewalk.

Ebony reigned in the firmament spotted with the billions of stars and far off worlds tucked millions of miles away. Chilled wind slipped betwixt the branches of the barren trees and scudded the vibrant leaves in swirling little whirlwinds down the roads. Sleepy quiet pervaded the world dousing all in a somber repose.

"A beautiful night." Belle observed quietly, her head tilted up to view the still dark heavens sprinkled with stars. A shiver crawled up her spine from the nipping wind stealing under her dress. Clutching her wrap tighter she stoically endured the cold that fell with the coming of winter.

"A cold night." He shrugged off his coat with a smooth ease. Placing the thick coat on her shoulders without stopping, they continued under the illumination of streetlamps through the sleeping town.

Surprised, the beauty accepted the warmth of his coat with grateful nod. Fiery crimson surged in her cheeks from the gentlemanly gesture. Her diligent fingers faintly trailed over the fabric like a new sensation to her flesh. The coat smelled of him, with the right mixture of dust from his shop and expensive cologne.

Tugging his coat closer she smiled gently at her benefactor. "Thank you."

"I can't have my best smuggler catching cold." The fiend parried with a teasing grin.

"It was very kind of you." She slowed her pace a trifle to aid his leg. Though he insisted to walk her home his leg must have ached from the cold.

A scoff echoed insipidly from his lips. "There is nothing kind about me, Dearie." Did she think a simple courtesy relegated him to being anything in the way of kind?

"Of course there is." She corrected staunchly. "There is good in everyone, Mr. Gold. Even you. I don't believe you are as dark as people say."

The notion was ridiculous to say the least, the fiend mused inwardly. Amusement to her confounding words glowed like a dull ember in his chest. He was the leader of the Dark One's, a murderer, a liar and cheater; kind was not any words titled upon him before. "You have probably heard all the stories, and know there are far more skeletons locked up that people can't even fathom. You know of my deeds, Miss French, perhaps more than anyone save Jefferson."

"There is good in you still." The beauty insisted tenderly, snuggling deeper into his thick coat.

An indulgent smile for her tenacity curved upon his lips. If nothing else Belle was stubbornly determined with her strange thoughts of what she believed in people. "Well if I do have some spark of light then you are the only one to see such goodness." He chuckled into the darkness.

"Maybe I am." She slipped closer to him playfully, her body only inches from his. Care danced in her azure eyes flipping his insides all about. Their hands brushed against the one another, daring to take grasp in some clandestine connection.

So close to her did he dare grip her hand in the spell of the cool night; did he dare strike forth a hint of courage? Yes.

Determined to take a foreign leap into a realm that was not that unfamiliar, the spell was abruptly abated, leaving his hand cold and empty.

Stopping suddenly the brave beauty stepped up on her walk. Standing on the precipice of sidewalk and walkway, her mouth formed into a sad smile. "And here's home." A hint of disappointment trailed her tone.

Behind her, the windows gave off no light, save one lamp at her papa's bedside that always remained switched on upon the second floor. Comfort and happiness radiated from the simple home, filling the fiend with want to be where his Belle was even if she was a mere car drive away.

Curling his hand back at a missed opportunity, the fiend smile wanly at the beauty. What had he been thinking to try to grab her hand?

Smoothly slipping off his coat, she handed the comfortable item back to him. Part of her wished to invite him in for coffee, but the hour was late and her mind already awhirl with thoughts that should not have been in her head. If she invited him in for coffee, who knew what else she might have invited him to.

Smiling, she loosely clutched her purse to her abdomen and breathed the cold night air deeply. Content, her lungs burned with the chill stealing through her. "Good night, Mr. Gold." Her breath came out in a silvery plume of vapors.

"Good night, Miss French." A ghost of a smile wafted over his lips as he took back his coat.

Without a word the beauty turned to her home.

Frozen, the gang lord watched her till she fumbled for her keys and entered her home. Confusion of the heart rippled tenuously through the dark crags of his soul. How could one woman enthrall him so?

Limping back down the barren roadway the notorious fiend slipped back on his coat, his hand stilled curled into a loose fist at his side. A large grin he could not contain sliced upon his lips. Even when she was gone he could not rid himself of her charms for the scent of her fragrant perfume now lingered upon the collar of his coat.

~8~8~

After their dinner, Belle often visited the gang lord every day at his shop. She had become masterful at sneaking about when none were near and slipping into his shop like an errant breeze to see the most feared man in town.

Smiles tilted upon their lips every instance they met in the dim confines of his lair. An abnormal normalcy of sorts fell about them in a bewitched spell that let them be themselves to one another with no hints of fear. They drew from one another's company; each resting on the others shoulders. To Belle, their companionship came easy as though they had done much the same before some long time ago in a different time and place.

While thinking they were somehow connected before was utter nonsense, she couldn't let what occurred between them be relegated to imagination or dreams.

Slowly but surely something new, yet felt so old and familiar in the oddest of fashions, was molding back into shape.

~8~8~

Low hums echoed pleasantly from Belle's throat as she drifted from shelf to shelf in the neatly kept town library. While she kept her job happily toiling away in troves of dusty tomes and aiding the rare person that stole into the library for information, for all the runs she preformed for the notorious gangster, she had enough to keep her for years in highest comfort.

He paid far better than her job shelving books on dusty shelves and waiting for anyone to walk through. Still, the library was her passion, her haven, a place she could lose herself in different world all the while staying in the town and she was loathe to give up such a wondrous sanctuary.

Precariously balanced on tip toes, the beauty delicately inserted books to their proper niches along the dust lined shelves. Her sapphire eyes trailing over the carefully cared for spines glimmered with a brilliant new radiance that everyone from the no nonsense Granny to Mary Margaret had noticed. Even her papa had obliquely asked in his own way was there perhaps a gentleman caller in her life down at the library she kept from him. But of course there was no one. No one save….

"So this is what you do when not working for me." A soft accented voice observed playfully from behind the assiduous beauty.

A smile she could not contain inched upon her lips at the now all too familiar voice she heard nearly everyday. She could almost see the crooked, superior smile in his voice with every smooth word parted from his mouth.

Leisurely continuing her mundane task as though not delighted by his presence, the brown haired beauty heaved her slender shoulders in a helpless, insouciant shrug. "It's a living." She parried simply, her voice betraying a hint of humor.

"A rather droll one if you ask me." The fiend scoffed dryly in retort.

Though he could not understand her intrigue and fascination with books, watching her piling up old, dusty tomes and peeking inside their pages made her look at peace and lost in a different world all her own; a world where she truly belonged.

Turning swiftly about from stacking, the beauty smiled at the gangster. A thick black over coat to repel the cold donned his body covering everything but his polished dark shoes and golden handled cane. Circular, dark lens glasses covered his charming brown eyes and black leather gloves curled over the hilt of his hawk beaked cane as he stood in his normal position with outstretched cane in center of his stance.

Many would have cursed Gold in their establishment, but Belle felt her heart lighten when he was near. Light warmed her soul with his odd quips and rolling voice. Besides, having a handsome man around was never an unpleasant thing.

Teasing danced in her eyes as she laid the last book on the metal cart beside her. "Well I like this job well enough. I've always enjoyed the library. This place makes me feel like I'm at home."

Odd as the thought was, the library was where she felt most natural. The old juncture in the center of town where no one liked to visit was to her a haven that felt as though the place had been a gift long ago by some benefactor she could nary name.

Lazily judging the tomes, his mouth pulled to one side in un-satisfaction. "Not as profitable." He calculated in a soft hum, his eyes strafing casually over the rows of books lodged in their rightful places. His black gloved fingers tapped along the curve of his golden cane in a way that betrayed he was lost in thought.

"Some thing's are worth more than just profit." The beauty parried with a thin smile. Some things, she noted inwardly, were worth hanging to like an unshaken memory. Tossing her head she changed the subject. "So what you brings you here this fine evening?"

His shoulder heaved in a non committal shrug. "You always come to see me, I thought why not chance a reversal. I have the key to the back so I let myself in."

"Oh?" Her brow perched mischievously. "Since you came to see me does that mean I get to give the orders now?"

Arms stretched out, he bowed as best he could, his bum leg angular and awkward at the effort. "Of course boss." He picked up her game immediately and used the term Jefferson most often dubbed him.

"Huh." She breathed thoughtfully, her azure eyes trailing him slowly as though surmising his worth. "Why don't I think you'd be a very good smuggler?"

"Oh but I am." He winked cheekily displaying his roguish charm. "For who would suspect a poor limping cripple with a cane?"

Padding closer she canted her head to the left, her eyes glimmering like polished lapis lazuli stones. "Everyone."

"Am I that popular?" He joked with a soft smile. A smile especially reserved for her and no other.

Laughter quietly fell from her lips at the ridiculous statement. "You do leave quite the impression Mr. Gold. I don't think it's possible for anyone in this town to outright forget you."

"Let's hope not." An impish chuckle rumbled deep in his throat. "If people kept forgetting who I am or what I can do things could get messy."

"There's no arguing wit-" Abruptly, the front floors of the library whooshed open just as the words fled her mouth.

Jerking her head to the door barely visible through the rows of books her lips snapped closed in a vice. Alarm laced her features as the sounds of footsteps thudded against the marbled floor.

The gang lord couldn't be seen there, not so at ease or joking with her. Suspicion would flare into a spark and by noon the entire town would be in a veritable inferno ablaze with gossip. Mr. Gold and Belle French together in a nook of the library. Oh the rumors that would fly with that!

Putting a finger to his lips he softly pressed his cane in studied places against the floor. "I'll be in the back." He promised in a deathly whisper as he limped away.

Nodding, the beauty carefully called practiced calm to her lovely features. Bravery settled her wildly fluttering heart as she marched casually to the front. No one knew he was there, she reminded her self to bolster her courage.

Pleasant welcome illumined her face as she met the soul in the library. The sooner they got what they needed, the sooner she could continue her dance of words with the fiend.

A nervous, shabby looking man stared warily about the carefully maintained library as she appeared. A red and black flannel shirt donned his body haggardly looking three sizes too big. His silky brown hair was wild and untamed and his eyes were sunken with worry wrought from sleepless nights.

Expertly hiding her surprise, the beauty smiled friendly. "Christopher Hood, what can I do for you?"

Everyone in town new of the washed up gambler that somehow ended up in the backwoods of Maine. Town gossip whispered he had been a master card shark, but his luck ran out and he ended up in the town running a few underground games before finally just becoming addicted to the thrill of gambling and losing everything. He was still quite young and others whispered he had a wife and kid somewhere in Boston.

"Hey Belle." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly with his thick work calloused hand. "I was wondering if you had any jobs available. I'm trying to wrangle up some cash."

Pity marbled her features at the request. All knew of Christopher's troubles. Once upon a time he had been a regular Robin Hood at the gambling tables. He earned the nickname from 'robbing' from the rich by constantly busting everyone at any table of any game he gambled at. Then his luck took a turn or so the rumors claimed. Now he barely kept afloat as an extra job as a janitor working beside the town drunk Leroy.

She couldn't aid him up front by helping him find ways out of his troubles his addictions afforded, but she could tweak a few strings behind the scenes. A word to Jefferson could have him at the loan sharks door 'persuading' them to look the other way on a gambling debt or postpone payment and pain due to his lateness.

"I'm sorry Christopher I don't have anything for you." The beauty smiled sadly. "How about the nuns." She suggested helpfully. "They could maybe help you. Give you a place to stay, maybe."

A long fraught sigh fell from his bearded lips as he ran the back of his hand over his mouth. "Yeah, maybe you're right." Distraught with worry, the gambler ran a hand through his silky brown hair. Indecision mingled in his tortured gaze as though coming to grips with a soul tugging choice. "Or maybe you could give me the money and we can keep everything quiet."

"What?" Confusion danced in her azure eyes at the strange words.

"I saw you leaving the Dirty Dozen that night." He sniffed and shrugged helplessly as though he had no other option. "There was a safe in there I was trying to get my hands on. Guy cheated me in a poker game and I was going to get my money back. I heard the gun shot and I saw you run out the door. Give me the money and I won't tell anyone, I swear."

Pain from the memories of that night bubbled riotously inside the beauty like an over boiling pot of noxious liquids. After Gold's injury she managed to finally bury the bloody atrocity in the jagged crags of her heart, but with a few simple words the shame came rising back like flood water into her soul. If he had been a witness, what else did he have?

"How dare you." The voice of Mr. Gold growled dangerously before she could utter a word.

Blood drained entirely from his rough features from the voice that terrified the entire town. Fear danced in Hood's blood shot brown eyes as though the hounds of hell bayed behind him ready to rip him to shreds and devour his heart.

Hefting his sturdy cane like a club, the fiend aimed at the would-be blackmailer. The cold metal of the golden handled cane curled over the gamblers flannel shirt collar like a stone claw of a dragon. Tugging hard, the gang lord viciously yanked the janitor back away from the beauty.

A cry fell haggardly from the sinewy, built body of the gambler as he fell on his back. Pain shattered through his form like a giants fist hurtling into his body. Vulnerable and frightened, he looked akin to an up turned beetle unable to turn back over.

Unmoved, Gold loomed over the gambler like the shade of death. Riotous anger smoldered darkly in his orbs stapled upon the gamblers wane body. "I've been looking for you. I believe you owe me a large sum, Mr. Hood." He hissed viciously and jabbed the end of his cane into the gamblers chest.

Grabbing the end of the ash wood cane with trembling hands, the young rogue stared pleadingly into the hard, cruel eyes of the gang lord. Abject terror glimmered in his wide eyes as he fought to keep the hurt away. "Wait… please… Mr. Gold." He stammered pitifully.

Deaf to his pleas, the fiend thrust the cane violently down to the weak soul beneath his shoes. Muffled cries shot up from betwixt the gamblers clenched jaw. His body arched upwards as the cane pressed against the bones in his torso. Slowly, his grip went limp against the cane, helpless to stop the pressure bearing down upon him.

The fiend's lips curled into a feral snarl as he gazed down murderously at his debtor. "You come here, trying to blackmail my lieutenant and hope for clemency when the beast himself shows?"

Terrified, the gambler jerked his head towards the silent beauty. Shock marred his features as he squirmed under the agonizing press of the cane. "You… you…. I didn't know I swear or I'd never come. If I'd have known you worked for him."

"And now that you know." A malicious smile traced the fiend lips as he dug into his coat. "Well, sorry to be you. Miss French, you might want to grab a mop from the back the sooner we clean this filth up the better."

"Don't kill him!" Belle pleaded suddenly, knowing what lay in the folds of his dark jacket. "Gold please. No more bloodshed. Not here, please." Every nerve in her body was tired of blood and hits and pain. The image of Guy came striking back to her with a vivid clarity. Never did she wish to be involved into another's direct death.

Out of everything did the lost soul in front of them deserve to die?

Grimacing darkly, the gang lord tossed his head. "He knows, Miss French. He is a liability to you and therefore a liability to me."

He promised her no one would ever have a chance of accusing her for the deed. While Hood was living, his oath went un-mended.

"He's desperate just like I was." She rebuffed candidly.

The gang lord pointed an accusatory finger at the helpless gambler. "He tried to blackmail one of my people."

"That doesn't give you a right to kill him." The beauty protested bravely in the face of the beast.

"It gives me every right!" Barked the fiend angrily. "You get into my business, you die; everyone knows that."

Bravely, she placed a hand on his arm. "It doesn't have to be like that." She coaxed softly. "You can change this. Show him mercy, please. He won't tell, I know. I can feel it in my heart."

"The heart is a foolish thing." He growled lowly, his eyes never departing the gamblers frightened orbs.

Desperation marbled her features. She didn't have time to convince him he was wrong, not when another's life hung in the balance. All she could hope for was the glimmer of light she knew lay deep in the thick, swampy morass of his heart. "Please."

Tense silence reigned like a foul mist inside the small library. The gambler was a weak link in an already taunt chain. Killing him would solve a slew of problems and grant her security.

Staring into her soft blue eyes, the fiend felt his will crumbling; could he deny her anything? Slowly, he slid the cane away from the felled soul. Disgust reigned upon his weathered features as he eyed the gambler murderously.

A growl boiled from his throat as he took a step back to allow the gambler to rise. "She just saved your life. Don't forget that."

"Thank you." He breathed heavily as he scrambled up. Clutching at his already bruising chest the gambler stared gratefully at the beauty that spared his life. "I won't forget I promise." Gasping haggardly, he staggered out into the cold evening, departing from where he had come.

Irritation sparked in the gang lord's eyes as he turned to stare at the door. The thick portals swung vapidly revealing little snippets of the world with every swing. Their rusted, creaking hinges seemed to his ears as though taunting him with tiny mocking voices squeaking the word "weak" in his ears. In many, many years, he had not let someone who should have died live.

All because of her.

Eyes pinioned to the door, his mouth dipped into a thin line. "Clemency does not befit a criminal, Miss French." The fiend remarked coolly, his smooth words laced with utter distaste.

"You are not the kind of man to slaughter another for a desperate mistake." She parried softly.

A snort of derision echoed from him at the foolish thought. "I wasn't talking about me, Miss French."

"Well whose to say mercy doesn't befit me?" Nervous laughter fell merrily from her lush lips.

Turning to her, blistering incredulity danced in his eyes. "And just what do you think mercy gains you?" His head tilted faintly to the right.

"Letting him live shows me that your heart is not as dark as you claim. Like I always knew." She revealed gently. "And that benefits us both."

Confusion pulsed at the frayed strings of his heart with a strange knowing. "For what purpose? Why did you wish me to let him live?"

A tender smile spread across her mouth as she neared him. So long she had waited to see that not all of him was as dark as people claimed, as dark as he himself testified.

Standing on tip-toe she coiled her slender arms about his neck. Warmth and compassion and attraction danced in her eyes as she fell into him with the emotions long lodged deep inside that burst forth at the sudden mercy to the notorious gambler. Some how, the act of clemency sparked a long dead fire absent in her heart. It was as though sparing his life brightened a memory of feelings she could not contain.

"For this." She breathed in a husky whisper before sealing her mouth with his in a soft kiss.


	11. A Little Closer

For the gang lord Mr. Gold the world whirled about in a kaleidoscopic dizzying tempests frenzy dancing madly inside his tactile mind. All other thoughts for good or ill or anything in between receded like the tide from his mind leaving her and only her branded in his head and his shriveled heart.

Her soft, warm mouth, pressed to his thin lips with a tender exploratory, kiss melted his heart into an oily puddle dripping into his stomach like melted wax. Care and passion stoked a bonfire deep in his soul, illuminating every jagged, perilous crevice of the darkness lurking through his gangly being.

The kiss took him to another place in time where he had not been in decades. Love and bitterness and remorse and fear and passion all crept over his heart akin to mold growing over a cold stone. He was no longer in the library but a cold, drafty place with dull light glowing in a hearth. She was no longer in the black and gray knee length dress but clad in a lovely blue and white chemise with her thick umber hair kept back by a blue ribbon.

In his minds eye he could have stared at the unexplainable image forever, yet darkness crept over the image turning his mind back to the Belle of here and now and the kiss of the moment.

Utter shock traced his weathered visage with the thrill of the kiss. Her body pressed and molded against his in their novel embrace. Brightness harangued his souls, casting his cold cruelty into summer's radiances burning away his vileness. His heart thawed in steady trickles to beat warmly for her and pulse with some locked away memories fettered at the base of his mind.

The kiss was so familiar he was tempted to let his mind wander down the lazy, snaking river of reminiscent bliss. What he would find at the end was a mystery, but to let his thoughts flow free, going into some forbidden territory was a coaxing thing.

Instead despite his desire, he pulled away, closing the tributary of his mind to focus solely on the woman who dared to show him such emotions.

Misunderstanding danced warily in his chestnut eyes, his mouth swinging agape with unfathomable astonishment. Awe stamped his features, shockingly displaying what lurked in his dreadful heart. How could she want to kiss him voluntarily? How could she even fathom pressing her lips to his in the tenderest of affections wrought by the most impassioned of lovers?

"Belle." Her name sputtered from his lips disbelievingly. Only in the rarest of moments did he use her name and never so softly.

Did she really know what she had just done?

Realization flared in her cobalt depths for what she had wrought in the unthinking moment swept in some foreign emotion. Against everything, she kissed him with no thought of consequence or remorse. Pressing her lips to his had been almost like a natural instinct she could not control in her body.

When he allowed Hood his life, he had not been Mr. Gold, but something more, something… magical.

Tossing her head, warmth rushed to her cheeks in a carnelian blaze. Her body felt afire with imminent embarrassment stealing along her skin. "Mr. Gold. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry."

"No you're not." He refuted softly in a whispering breath. Just by looking into her cerulean depths he knew the falsehood for what it was. She wasn't an inkling of sorry or any other plaintive, melancholic thing.

Some instinct along with attraction triggered the moment and she readily complied to her body's wishes.

Staring into his eyes, the beauty felt her being mingled in a vat of stewing emotions bubbling over the roaring fire lodged in her heart. She had been attracted to him for what seemed akin to years rather than the few months she knew him. There was something under his coarse beastliness that drew her like a load stone to the stars or a quivering compass arrow to the north. So long she wished to see some form of goodness in him and there his light was, in a simply gesture to let Hood live.

The gesture was the first crack in her dam of emotions and the walls so staunchly built up burst forth in a flood that swept all else away.

Still, the moment was just that - a moment.

"We can't do this." A sad smile curved upon her pink lips thought she did not deny his words.

How could they think of showing one another such ardor when they were worlds apart in every way? He was a gang lord and she was nothing but a desperate woman. They found friendship, but there was a huge chasm between simple friendship and interest in the other. Who knew what would happen if their rendezvous began to become romantic in nature.

Light from the windows gilded his features into a golden hue of time gone by. Grasping her book worn hands in his, he held them close betwixt their beating hearts. "Who's to say not?" He countered gently, his words soft as the dust motes floating through the honey shafts of light filtering over them.

Now that she started their avalanche to feelings long kept hidden he was in no resistance to stop the track of their errant emotions wildly tumbling through their souls. Her kiss left no doubt he wanted her near, to taste the nectar of her lips and feel the satin of her creamy skin in a grazing brush of his finger tips.

She seemed like someone lost he had found and again and he was loathe to let that go again. Never again.

Cocking his head to the right slightly, as though the position could allot him a different view into her tumultuous soul and mind, he ran the pads of his fingers against her white knuckles. "Do you fear me? Do you not wish to entwine yourself to a monster? Say yes and I'll never ensue to this words again."

"I don't fear you." She admitted bravely, her azure eyes finding his searchingly. "But you're the leader of the Dark Ones, a feared legend for good cause and I'm…" She dipped her head down, unwilling to allow him to see her inadequacy. "I'm Belle of the library."

Laughter fell from him in a soft chortle reminiscent of some long, long ago age. Gently lifting her chin with his finger tips, he smiled softly with an expressive tenderness long housed in the barren haunts of his soul. "You see what little goodness there is in me, and I see what wonders lay in you though you cannot see them yourself. You are so much more than just Belle."

She was the Belle who brought out the good in him. A Belle who saw other than darkness prowling in his cruel marble eyes and saw to the very fringes of his soul. She was Belle who fearlessly dared to kiss him and dare to cross a line long ago forged in the sand.

Leaning down, he dipped towards her to repay the kiss in full.

In that instance she could have backed away from him and proclaimed she did not wish to show her affections. She could have placed her soft hands on his chest and pushed him away to rebuff his advance, but she couldn't. Even if she did want to deny his ardor glimmering in his orbs and the attraction brewing in herself she couldn't; not that she wanted to if she could.

His kiss met chastely upon her lips, daring to be bold, to be brave in the face of his terror; daring to recall the familiarity of her mouth. Her lips were like cool water to a parched mans lips, bringing back sweet life. Adoration seeped thickly through his being with the force of a gale, filling him with old emotions freed deep in him from some fettered dark corner.

Untangling her lips from his, the beauty stared knowingly into his eyes. Love of old sparkled like faceted sapphires locked in her depths. Her fingers slowly trailed against the edge of his clean shaven chin as though the skin would rub off into a different flesh. But that was only just a fancy of the mind of course.

"So…?" The word dribbled off his mouth unable to connect any other phrase to his frozen mind. Where did they go from there? Finally they shed off their thick cloaks hidden about their hearts to display what the other felt, but what now did they do with such emotions bared forth?

A small grin tipped aloft her lips. "So… let's take this slow. I bring lunch to your place tomorrow?" She queried softly her brow perched. They didn't have to change their everyday lives because of what they felt. Starting small would be just what was in order to arrange their hearts.

A faint, uncertain smile stole upon the gang lord's lips. "Lunch would be nice." He replied, his voice shaken by their abrupt progress.

Neither wanted things to change drastically, they knew in their hearts, but how they had.

~8~8~

Halfway across town things weren't looking so optimistic.

"What's Gold up to?" Emma backed a portly shady dealer against the brick wall of an old, abandoned shop. Her lips contorted into a snarl baring her anger forth in a wave of unrequited fury.

The shabby looking drug dealer trussed up in three dark coats and jeans with a bright red cap flopped over to the left stared wide eyed at the tenacious Emma Swann. His black gloved hands shot up in surrender to the former deputy as though she were inducing a mugging on him rather than the other way around. The gun he once toted in the folds of his jackets lay in a trash choked corner of the dim alleyway away from reach and his knife was broken in two and kicked in the gutter. His powdery white cargo lay ruined and useless from broken baggies in the wet alleyway, mingling with the mud and grit vapidly rushing into the sewers.

Word was going around the fired deputy was harassing any who even sniffed in Gold's direction and with the police looking the other way in some cases she wasn't one to be trifled with.

Swallowing hard he shook his head violently, trembling bearded lips betraying his terror. "I don't know." He stammered frightened at the bounty hunter. "You got to believe me, I only deal. I don't mess with the boss. I drop off the money, collect my cut and that's all! That's how it's always been!"

"Who do you drop off the money too?" Grabbing the fringe of his ripped black coat she pinned him against the rough brickwork wall. Her gun pressed hard into his abdomen, the barrel indenting small circles that could spell death if she pulled the trigger.

He gasped for breath, his body wheezing for the cold autumn air. Pinching his eyes shut he sputtered. "Jefferson, he's Gold right hand man. He handles things and sometimes the other one comes and collects the cash."

"The other one?" The blonde's eyes searched the frightened dealer intently for any hint of a lie. Blood surged through her valiant heart at the thought of finally pinning down the mystery smuggler. If she could find out who the new gangster was part of her was more than certain Mr. Gold would unravel like a thick spool of thread.

The dealer hissed painfully not daring to move in her clutches with a gun pointed at his torso. "No one knows; you have to believe me. That's why things have worked so well. Mr. Gold keeps the identity a secret. Everyone is wondering. "

"Who else would know?" Stabbing the barrel of the gun deeply into his skin and against bone, she spoke through barely pried lips. "Who!"

He squealed, bright tears flecking his eyes from the pain. Billowing, milky vapors huffed from his foul, yellow mouth. "Jefferson! If Jefferson doesn't know then nobody does."

Jefferson. The name stuck in her gullet like a sharp fish bone. Rapidly this Jefferson was becoming a man not to be dodged. But he was one of the higher ups of the Dark One's, not expendable dealers kept well feared and well paid.

"Where can I find this Jefferson?" She asked squeezing her hands against his throat in a vice.

Paling, the drug dealer squeaked out. "His home on the edge of town. Big mansion; can't miss it."

Satisfied, she dropped the dealer, letting him fall away like trash and backed off from her assault.

Falling hand and knee to the cold cobblestone alley, the dealer gasped thankfully for breath. Hand shaking, he touched his tremulously bobbing throat with mud stained fingers. His body trembled fitfully; relieved the woman had not done more.

Disgust marbled her features staring down upon the dealer with disdain. His cargo was destroyed at her feet and his fear bringing doubt in his belly from attempting to deal again least she seek him out for another dose of questioning.

"Tell your 'boss' I'm coming for him." Emma stated icily as she watched him pick himself up from the gritty puddles.

Weeks passed and she was hot on the gang lord's trail. She knew mostly all of his people and how they operated. Some had already been put away but most carried on unafraid with the canopy of Mr. Gold offering protection. She was a one woman army going against not only Gold, but the mayor who constantly became a thorn in her side in keeping her son away.

The only thing they did seemed to agree on was that Mr. Gold needed to be stopped and it seemed to reach that goal she needed to speak to the hit man himself.

Turning away from the defeated dealer, kicked the gun into the sewer as she departed. Tactfully, the bounty hunter began on how to plan her next meeting with the hit man.

~8~8~

Thick darkness completely ensorcelled the sleepy town as Emma padded into the soft glow of neon lights shining from Granny's. The all night diner was a haven for those whose sleep evaded them or late night projects which were few and far between. A sigh of relief like reaching a safe haven brooked from her lips as she lumbered tiredly to the door.

Cocoa would do her a world of good before she went home to Mary Margret's apartment and plotted on how to ensnare the wily Jefferson. He would be a challenge, she knew thoroughly as she opened the door. One did not become right hand man to a person like Mr. Gold without being extremely cunning or lucky.

"Took you long enough to find me, Miss Swann." Jefferson smiled in greetings to the bounty hunter as she entered Granny's diner.

Surprise alit warily in her features as she paused at the door. With a night done of harassing Gold's people she looked forward to sit down with a cup of chocolate and plan her next move alone. The last thing she expected was the hit man to meet her.

She was only away from the dealer for 30 minutes how had the word gotten around so swiftly?

Grimly placing her infamous red leather jacket on a coat peg by the door, the blonde stoically shook the thought away. Jefferson was there and the diner was empty enough to hold conversation or apprehend should the need arise.

Padding over like a nimbly stalking lynx she slipped into the dark blue booth and eyed the hit man icily. She hadn't imagined such a well cared for murderer for hire working for the gang lord. He showed no bleary eyes or beer stains and blood under jagged nails nor the shakiness of someone who lived close to death and doled out demise.

He was calm and collected, insanely at ease almost.

Settling rigidly, her hand on the cold hilt of her gun, she stared hard into his eyes. "Tell me about Gold." She demanded firmly, her words laced with threat.

If he was wary of her growled words he did not show his fright. Smiling widely, he ran a hand through his ebony tresses. "Trust me, Miss Swann Mr. Gold will be the least of your worries very, very soon."

Emma tensed, her lips a thin line upon her serious visage. "Is that a threat?" She inquired wryly, challenge brimming in her tone.

Both looked up as the Ruby placed a steaming mug of tea in front of the insane hit man. Paleness swathed her features in the paint of fear dancing in her eyes like fire. Everyone in town knew Jefferson and what he did, making him nearly on par with the gang lord in the area of terror.

Without inquiring anything of Emma, the scarlet server swept out again and into the safety of the kitchen where no doubt granny awaited armed with a frying pan in case things got dangerous.

Dexterous fingers calloused by needles plucked up the wide, brown mug. Gingerly taking a small sip, the mad man looked over the rim of his cup in a searching manner. Amusement danced in his eyes, speaking more of his condescension of her than mere words could broach.

"No Miss Swann not a threat. A simple warning and a hope I give." He took another draught of his tea leisurely and shifted in his seat. "What I mean to say is that you will have no need to pursue Mr. Gold in the near future. What is wrong in this town will be righting itself very soon."

As if on a metal impulse the clock tower struck out into the cold night. The ringing boomed through the leafless trees and shivered across the mostly sleeping town with the silvery peal announcing the late time.

Chuckles erupted softly from his throat as he leaned relaxed in the booth, his eyes admiring the lovely Miss Swann. His fingers circled the rim of his cup as he echoed in a smirk. "Very soon."


	12. Sacrafice?

_A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing lovelies._

**~8~8~**

Warmth enwrapped Belle's delicately slender form as she nestled snugly in the wide, accepting arms of Mr. Gold. His fine dark suit felt soft against her bare arms, allowing a feeling of comfort and safety she scarcely ever knew in her life. The faint scents of his expensive cologne wafted through her nostrils making her smile in drowsy delight. She felt almost intoxicated by him, drunk off his smiles and kisses and touches.

Happiness laid like a soft ray of light in her heart gleaming with the intensity of some new, foreign emotion that seemed so oddly familiar. For the first time in a very long time, she felt as though things were going right in her troubled life. Her papa was a thousand times better and with the aid of a nurse coming by and everyday he was getting stronger and living out of his bed, money was no longer and issue to toss and turn over on a beat up orange couch, and she had _him_.

Standing in the furthest corner of his safe room like teenage lovers in the shadows, gang lord and smuggler teased and kissed into the evening. Soft words fell from their lips as they took to spending their time on other, pleasant endeavors rather than criminal gain.

"I thought we were supposed to be filling the cases with money." Belle giggled mischievously with a wide grin to the gang lord.

A grin of his own formed upon the businessman lips as he held her tightly to his lanky body. Blissful delight sang through his heart when she smiled; a smile he believed she saved just for him alone. The world felt right and all the planets in order when she smiled and was happy next to him. Nothing could outshine her loveliness and nothing could replace his passion for his Belle.

A low rumble of approval thrummed from the gang lord's throat as he held her closer to his body. "Well." He drawled lazily in his alluring accent. "You were the one who decided to bring chocolate and strawberries to lunch pulling us away from our chore."

"And you were the one who started feeding them to me." The beauty parried good-naturedly, her lips drawn into a smirk.

He heaved his shoulders in an insouciant shrug, his features adumbrated in the shadow. "But you started dabbing the chocolate against my lips."

"Because you teased me about bringing chocolate and strawberries." A delicate finger traced along the edge of his jaw innocently as she added. "Besides, I wanted to see which was tastier - you or the chocolate." The graceful beauty retorted gently. Her mouth dipped into a coy smile as she brushed her lush lips against his. "You won with no contest."

Though they should have been working for days now they found themselves more focused on one another than any smuggling or laundering tasks piling up before them. Shiny black cases around the safe room in the back of his shop were open like ravenous mouths. Their dull gray holds were bereft of neatly piled cash that sat uncounted and in disarray nearby along the metal table.

More interest in talking the afternoon away or exploring one another with searching hands and plundering lips enraptured their times rather than deals and plots. For the last two weeks they had been stricken from the world with their romantic interest in one another. Both the library and the underhanded business went uncared for when they were next to one another, which was most of the day.

Happily, both thought with utmost certainty, they could indeed be content with one another for the rest of their days.

Smiling into her kiss, the gang lord chuckled faintly. "I'm sorry for teasing. Let me make it up to you…."

"Mr. Gold I'm here to pick up the mo…." Jefferson's words trailed off as he entered the safe room where smuggler and gangster kissed and talked the sweetest of nothings to one another.

A velveteen top hat graced his silky black tresses and he was dressed in a ball jacket not seen in centuries. Shock burned in his eyes as his depths pinioned upon the pair lodged in the corner simply being themselves away from the rest of the world.

Caught for the first time, gang lord and debtor quickly slid away from one another awkwardly. They seemed akin to teens eyed by a disapproving parent who wasn't expected to be home early.

Embarrassment flared heatedly in Belle's porcelain cheeks turning her flesh a lovely pink hue as the gang lord smooth the wrinkles in his suit. Neither looked at the other as though they were now complete strangers rather than an intimate pair kissing and making diner plans and joking of strawberries.

Wiry fingers fiddling with the golden buttons upon his disheveled suit the false businessman forced his voice into his usual aloof timbre as though nothing were amiss. "Jefferson. I had forgotten you were dropping things off today." Being with Belle did make him forget quite a lot.

"Yeah, and a new shipment is coming in tonight." He replied absently staring at them in shock. Trouble laced his brown eyes as he looked strangely from the librarian to the notorious gangster. "So… how long has this been going on?"

A scowl crossed the gang lord lips like a thunder cloud. "I don't think that's an appropriate question to ask Jefferson."

"I'm not trying to judge, boss." He raised his hands defenselessly. "I mean it's just you and her…. I mean…. Can we talk outside for a minute?"

Looking back to the beauty, the fiend smiled faintly. "I'll be back promptly." He promised with a chaste kiss.

Flushed, Belle jerked a thumb to the money haphazardly arranged. "And I should probably get started on this."

Anger billowed in the gang lord's eyes, telling of his boiling fury with each step out of the safe room leaving his Belle to begin the count. Shutting the soundproof door lightly, he whirled to Jefferson with an unprecedented speed harried by his wrath. "What?" He hissed viciously, his thin lips pried back into a snarl of agitation.

The hit man blinked owlishly, his mouth curved into a serious frown. "You don't know?"

"I have no time for your madness, Jefferson, what do you want?" His grip tightened on the golden hilt of his cane in a vice to keep from delivering a blow to the hit man's jaw.

He gestured to the thick steel door. "You and Belle…. I mean how long has this been happening…?"

"What does it matter?" Gold challenged darkly, his eyes clouded with rage. Who was Jefferson to inquire such private knowledge? Their business was their own. For whatever reason, Belle found an interest in him and that was enough.

The mad man's eyes flickered back to the steel door. "You let yourself get involved with her." Consternation edged his uncertain voice as though confused for the very first time in his life.

A dry scoff rife with condescension fell from the gang lord's mouth. Leaning slightly to the left, a small smirk tipped his lips. "That wasn't hard; she's very beautiful. A very lovely, intriguing woman whom I care for deeply."

"But she's… she…." He tried to find the words that remained locked in his heart that he couldn't explain.

The fiend shook his head. "A liability? I appreciate your concern Jefferson, but she isn't an issue. My power will always mean more to me than the wiles of a woman no matter how alluring they might be. Business before pleasure they say, and for right now she is in my business so I may indulge in a little pleasure here and there."

"But Gold… I mean…." The hit man babbled, uncertain what words to speak. This couldn't be right, the hit man assured himself. Things should have been different with the gang lord.

Frowning dangerously the gang lord's eyes narrowed to thin slits. His jaw tightened in a vice as he stared over the mad man icily. "Another word Jefferson and it'll be your head and the edge of my cane. I know what I'm doing."

Unaffected by the threat, the hit man nodded in understanding. Tossing the flustered confusion from his features he donned his normally insane grin. Clapping his hands together he nodded. "Well since you're not done I'll just come by another time."

Before another word the hit man turned away. Intense pondering contoured his features alighting his eyes with confusion. Stepping out into the cold autumn sunshine the mad man turned a corner into the dark alley way along the pawn shop. Once certain he was alone, he allowed his emotions to fly free from his control.

Anger gripped his heart with blazing talons showering her soul with bright spurting sparks. Viciously kicking a tin trashcan he stomped upon the thin metal with all his frustrated wrath. Sharp, jagged edges from the demolished can contorted from the abuse into lethal points. Jagged metal ripped through his pants till the warmth of blood oozed down his leg.

Breathless from the abrupt mauling, the hit man gave the can one last fierce kick before calming himself. Something was wrong, so very wrong. Mr. Gold had kissed the woman but nothing whatsoever at all seemed to change.

"Why hasn't he changed?" The hit man hissed fiercely. Slamming his curled fist viciously into the brick worked wall with all his frustrated fury he allowed a low curse to slip past his lips.

Rubbing a free hand through his greasy ebony hair, he leaned his brow upon the rough wall. His eyes clenched shut tightly as he poured over his mind what could have gone awry. Everything was in place, they were drawn to one another with no help at all from his hand and they found one another's arms so easily even after 28 long years. Was she not his true love?

Did she not love him?

Did he not love her?

Perhaps how much was the question.

Or maybe, the sudden thought hit him with the force of a lightening strike, maybe they had yet to show such true love to any extent. Maybe a little incentive was needed to demonstrate that devotion, for love was not a mere word, but actions set in motions by the hearts of two.

Satisfied with the sudden revelation, the hit man limped off to his home nestled away at the edge of town. Thoughts dashed across his mind in a shrieking frenzy of a gale with every limping step.

Perhaps Emma would catch her beast after all.

~8~8~

Snatches of old love songs fell lightly from Belle's lips as she filed through the worn yellow book cards at the main desk. Though she worked dutifully, her ambling thought circled about the gang lord's crooked smile and the gentle touch of his hands. He could be quite a teaser when he was most at ease and there was so much to him behind the cold carapace of the gangster.

A dreamy smile wandered pleasantly about her face filling her features with a blissfulness that had never been as long as she could recall and all for him. Truly, though she might be the only one to view the change there was a kind, gentle man behind the monster.

"Evening Belle." Emma greeted happily as she strode into the library. A smirk rested on her lips brimming with victory, her eyes dancing with some requited joy.

An odd feeling quirked in the beauty's stomach at the bounty hunters strange presence but she nary let a hint of anything other than pleasantness show on her features. Placing the card holder to the side she smiled warmly. "Emma how can I help you? Looking for a book for Henry?"

"No." She retorted simply, her smirk never fading. Leaning her elbows on the wooden counter, she stared straight into Belle's azure eyes. A soft chuckle fell in a huff from her lips as she shook her head faintly. "You're good, Belle. I don't say that to a lot of people, but you are."

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about?" The beauty's brow beetled with thin lines of confusion.

"That two million in the bank." The blonde's eyes glinted with remembrance. "Now _that _was ingenious. Sneaking the money through the book deposits; you played that very well." Digging through a pocket her smile widened. "Here, look, I even have a picture to remember."

Lazily sliding the photo over the counter, the ex deputy canted her head to the right, her grin bursting with victory. By a chance of fate her moment to catch Gold was nearing by leaps and bounds.

Shock stapled the beauty face in a wave of amazement as she stared at the photo. True enough the picture was of her tossing duffle bags into the back of the van and driving away from the library in the dead of night. There was no other person it could have been.

"This is just one." Emma informed the stunned beauty triumphantly. "Courtesy of Jefferson."

Frozen, Belle's eyes searched the picture. Disbelief burst into her mind with a thousand radiant displays that made the back of her eyes ache. After all the gang lord and his assassin had been through after all the time and the years why would Jefferson willingly, betray the leader of the Dark One's; for what gain?

Taking the picture away, the ex deputy's grin molded into an understanding frown. "I know what you might be thinking, but I'm not after you. Jefferson told me of how you got entangled into this. You couldn't pay rent, your father needed medicine, and you made a bad choice to preserve your life as best you knew how. I know very well what that's like. I don't want to take you to prison, I'm willing to turn my eye against everything you've done and let you keep everything you have that Gold gave you; the house, the money, everything. All I want is Gold. Testify for me when I have a solid case against him even do a little spy work for me and your name will be clean, I promise."

The choice was a tempting one, Belle admitted grimly in the crags of her heart. Even though the words burned shamefully in the beauty, she couldn't deny the appeal. Things were abruptly unraveling and she had a way to jump ship to safety with all she'd earned from the gang lord and not a speck of tarnish on her name. She could live in luxury; even perhaps pick up the ashes when he was caught.

After all she was a gangster.

The thought lasted nearly an entire second before true Belle glowed through.

"No." Belle breathed calmly, forcing her voice not to betray her panic. "I won't betray him. I'd never try to hurt him."

"He blackmailed you, and with your cooperation I can prove that. I'm offering you a way out of your debt to him for good. He won't have any power over you when all is said and done. You would help take down a monster." The blonde rebuffed, disbelieving what she heard from the beauty. She was truly willing not to give up the beast of Storybrooke?

Shaking her head, the beauty grinned sadly, her indigo eyes hard with resistance. "He's not a monster." She protested stoically.

Icy chips of fury danced darkly in Emma's eyes. Rage flared in her heart at yet another obstacle in her path all for the sudden determination of one. Slowly taking out her steel cuffs she prowled around the counter. "He'll put everything on you; every hit, every drug deal, every crime in his filthy closet. You'll go to prison for life or a death sentence with enough proven murders on your head." Her words bit out furiously trying to give the beauty one last chance.

"I know." Belle replied quietly. Her body flinched as the cuffs slapped tightly against her wrists. "But I won't give him up."

Grabbing her roughly by the arm, the former deputy pulled the caught librarian away from her sanctuary. Anger roiled in her heart with every step. The foolish woman could very well take the fall, but for no good reason.

Belle squinted as the bounty hunter angrily shoved open the doors to her beloved library. The cold autumn sun stung her eyes making her jerk her head away like a rat suddenly seeing the light of day for the first time in eons.

Leaning against the police cruiser, the sheriff's brow crinkled dubiously towards the bounty hunter. "Belle? Emma are you sure this is the one?"

"Positive." Emma remarked sourly as she opened the car door.

Still not fully taken with the notion of quiet Belle being under Gold's employ, he cocked his head to the left. "Belle?" Her name came out tremulously as though giving her a chance to protest her innocence.

Flickering her eyes to him, she shrugged her shoulders. She wouldn't tell them anything, but the more they focused on her the less they would focus on Gold.

"Okay." His stare grew cold with the silent admission. "You have the right to remain silent, and you do can and will be used against you in the court of law…."

~8~8~

Belle.

Taken.

The words sparked wildfire through the fiends mind as he limped rapidly up the stairs to Jefferson's large, lavish manse. Trepidation marred his normally cold neutral features with each step to the opulent home that belonged to the hit man.

Rumors were swirling from the mouth of Miss Swann and everyone in town that Jefferson was the one to hand out the information that led to his Belle's arrest. Gossip claimed he had given the ex deputy pictures and proof of his Belle's actions in the grand game.

And now she was in police custody.

Rapping against the white door with his cane, the notorious gang lord shifted from foot to foot impatiently. Nerves trembled awkwardly in his body, his flesh lined with Goosebumps of anxiousness wrought from worry. His fingers tapped nervously against the gold of his cane as he tried vainly to instill calm in himself. Never had he felt such before. He knew for a fact there was nothing to lead back to him, but his Belle sat in the confines of the ugly little station being questioned and who knew what else.

With the unpleasant thought he began to knock once more, the door swung open.

Jefferson grinned faintly at the fiend almost as though expecting him. "Mr. Gold how can I help you?"

"We've got trouble." The gang lord stated grimly as he limped into the ostentatious mansion. "Belle has been arrested and they're saying you gave the information to the police."

Confusion donned the hatter's brow whilst he closed the door. "That's not right." He mused aloud.

"I know you wouldn't Jefferson, But we need to figure out where the leak stared." Gold replied absently, his mind focused on the beauty.

The mad man shook his head. "You don't understand, I didn't give anything to the police, just Emma."

Ice coated the gang lord blood with the sudden words from the once loyal hit man's mouth. For a split second in time shock rooted him to where he stood sturdier than any strength could have.

Jefferson sold them out.

In a moment the fury of the gang lord flared out like a raging rabid dragon striking out in blind rage. Anger boiled the ice in his veins tuning his blood to sheer fire.

Rounding on the haberdasher, the fiend took his cane in both hands. With a cry wrought of unnatural rage he charge and forced the cane against Jefferson's scarred throat. Putting on speed, he slammed the hatter into a column efficiently pinning him like a bug.

How could he betray the Dark One's!

Breath gushed from Jefferson lips as the fiend pushed him to a ivory column in the vestibule. With a power unknown, the gang lord forced the hapless hit man tightly against marble column. Rage danced freely in his eyes with the fury of an inferno. The embers of hell seemed to spark off his body and tumble to the floor.

"You what have you done!" The words hissed through his clenched jaw.

Gasping for air, the hit man tried to relieve the pressure against his throat. His upraised scar bulged from the force like a worm ready to burst between two plump fingers. "Let me explain." He gargled desperately.

"Explain what?" Gold forced the cane tighter against his throat. He felt the flesh slowly giving way, goading on her murderous wrath. "I gave you this house, Jefferson, you were on the top; anything you wanted was yours. Why do this to me now, when I have everything I wanted in life, not just my power, but her!"

The hatters face paled with the lack of air from the cane against his throat. Black and blue bruises already dappled his skin from the feral assault. Forcing back the cane with all his strength, he managed to speak in a ragged timbre. "Please… let me ex… explain."

For a moment more the fiend held the ash wood cane to the hit man's vulnerable throat. Murder danced in his eyes but also desperation. While he wished with all his being to kill the mad man, he might hold information dear to freeing his Belle from the fiasco.

Cursing himself, the gang lord jerked the cane away. Disgust wrenching his lips as he stared at the hit man.

Relieved, Jefferson sank limply to the floor. Gasping for breath, he pulled one knee up as he leaned his head against the cool pillar. Greedily sucking in air, his throat burned with the effort but at least he was alive.

"You have five minutes." Gold spat firmly, glaring down upon the helpless hit man. "Talk."

"You won't believe me, but now is as good a time to tell you." He breathed raggedly. "You aren't who you think you are. Your name is not Mr. Gold."

The fiend huffed at the ludicrous statement. The mad man was starting to sound like Henry. "Then what is it?" He sneered angrily.

"Rumpelstiltskin." The haberdasher explained. "You… everyone, actually, in this town comes from a different world. In the other world you were a powerful man, a man who knew the strongest of magic's. I used to work for you when you were making deals, gathering those for your plots, and traveling to other realms. I can't explain everything right now, but you made a curse to end all curses to send us here and gave the Madame Mayor the information to enact the curse for her own purposes."

Mirthless laughter fell freely from the beasts lips. Canting his head to the left he stared down murderously at the hit man. "Have you fully snapped, Jefferson? If I am who you say I am why don't I remember this? I would think if I was this extraordinarily powerful creature I would let myself remember a few of those important details!"

"You were supposed to." Jefferson pressed at his bruising throat, his fingers tenuously darting over the scar. "You were supposed to remember everything but something went awry when the spell was cast. The curse effected you as well. I wasn't effected because while I am of our real world I was in other at the time. I came through somehow with my memory intact. Perhaps you used me as a fail safe, but I can't explain how I remember all of this."

The mad hatter ran a tremulous hand through his hair. "When I saw you when the curse first transported us I knew you didn't remember. You thought you were who you are now, a gangster without an inkling of your past life. But you can remember again, I made sure of that. I have waited for 28, long, lonely years for you to remember. All you need to do is kiss your true love and your old memory will come back. You always told me true love breaks any curse."

"And you thought that "true love" was Belle." Gold concluded. "Well I have kissed her, more than enough times, and so far, nothing your insanity claims has occurred! If any of this was even plausible, how do you know she is my true love?"

A small smile tipped the mad mans lips. "I saw the way you looked at your servant girl in the Dark Castle. I had never seen you so tender with another living creature even though she was your slave. I had never seen anyone smile so brightly, or at all, at you, especially with the knowledge she gave up everything, her family her life her betrothed to live with a monster for eternity. Oh yes you loved her very much. She used to call you Rum, a pet name no one else ever dared call you and you used to sometimes call her…."

"Belle-of-mine." The gang lord replied involuntarily. Somewhere his head plucked the tender moniker from out the annals of his memory. Surprise burned through his mind with the sudden placement that sprang from his lips. Where had such an unwarranted thought come from in the crevices of his mind?

An eager smile flashed upon the mad man's lips. "Yes, you see! You remember something, just not all." He nodded exuberantly.

"So why don't I remember?" Gold asked feeling slightly foolish for indulging such words with a mad man. Here he was speaking of things that never occurred with a man who belonged in an insane asylum, but somehow his words sparked a fire of memory in his mind he could not damper.

"Your power, Mr. Gold, is all I can think of. Power is keeping you away from her and the love. Though you loved her you sent her away." Jefferson explained softly. "Back then, when I came around and never saw her anymore I never knew why nor much cared, but I understand now. You wanted power more than her. For true love to work you need sacrifice. You need to give up your power."

Shaking his head the fiend suppressed panic within at the very words. The terrifying thought of losing all he had gained to humor a crazy hit man sent his stomach into back flips. "But why?" He asked in a wild stammer. "Why do I need to remember if what you say is true?"

"Actions are about to be set in motion and you are the only one with the knowledge of how to put everything back in place." He yelled with a sudden rabid intensity. A wildness danced in his eyes with every heated word. "You made this tangled magical web and everything can't connect without you. If you don't remember then we're all doomed. You need to remember and that requires sacrifice."

Panicked the gang lord grabbed the hit man by his coat lapels. Hauling him upward he slammed the hatter fiercely into the marble column. Flecks of dirt and dust crusted down. White flecks stained the fiends fingers gripped tightly to the velveteen fabric. "Your madness has gone far enough. You have ruined her life because you think we're cursed!"

Disgusted, the fiend shoved the hit man loose. Part of him wished to beat the mad man until he no longer breathed but there were other problems to worry about now. Belle's fate was looming ever nearing to disaster and he had no plans. Jefferson wasn't going anywhere and if he did the entire world could not save him from the beast's wrath.

Turning away, the fiend limped out of the house. A "curse", madness, he knew intently. Curses were the things of fairy tales and children and people who believed in superstition and magic of all things. He was a man of violence and money and power. Those foolish notions held no place in his mind.

Still….

Pain squeezed his heart at the thought of Belle in the cold police cell awaiting to be arraigned or worse. She did not deserve the fate about to befall her. She did not deserve a life in prison or at the most the death sentence that would surely come should enough evidence Jefferson allotted to police be found worthy.

Limping hard down the leaf littered road the fiend saw memories of her dash before his eyes.

Her first warm smile towards him blared through his mind like a fireball, tenuously nudging at his cold black heart. He smelt the first lunch she ever brought for him and his stomach heated with the memory. He recalled the first touch of her skin against his with no hint of disgust. He felt the first kiss against his lips….

Anguish cried out in his heart like the roar of an injured beast. His chest ached terribly with the boulder of his heart thumping lethargically in his skinny torso.

While Jefferson might have finally broken his last tie to sanity one thing did ring true. He could save his Belle by forgoing all he worked for.

The question was, would he?


	13. What You Hold Most Dear

Sweat vapidly brooked down Belle's temple as she sat under the swinging light in the barren questioning room of the police station. Silvery steel reflected upon every smooth surface, allotting no way to hide in any bleak corner of darkness.

The interrogation room in the belly of the station was one meant to put the accused under strain. Two big one way windows sat lodged on both the biggest walls facing one another. The room could barely fit five people and the chairs and tables were all made of cold, unbending steel that reflected every gestures in some twisted distorted way.

One light swung above without a cover casting down an uncomfortable heat to the accused. The luminance bared down like a judging eye over her head making her want to slink down against the table, but she refused to cower like some bug caught under a flame.

Sitting tall, her features grim, the calm beauty's eyes roved over the reinstated deputy who paced like a hungry wildcat before her. Bravery sparkled in her eyes, belaying any fear she felt stewing in her insides.

"Let's see, carrying an illegal firearm, trafficking, the aiding of prostitution, distribution of narcotics, 275 counts of money laundering, 37 counts of assault, and 54 murders." Emma slammed the thick manila folder on the steel table in front of the beauty. Indigo eyes glinting under the harsh light, the reinstated deputy frowned grimly at her captive. "And that's just what I glanced causally at from the boxes delivered by your former ally." She offered a helpless shrug, her features marred tactfully with no concern. "Some of us this might be yours but I'd bet most of this is Gold's doing scripted in your name."

Awkwardly flipping through the files, Belle stared at the neatly printed words and pictures laid out before her of gruesome murders, drug bricks, and prostitutes on the shady street corners. Mentally marking what deeds she had incurred and what were Gold's crimes, the beauty searched the names and the photos with a casual air.

Looking at the crimes detailed wouldn't matter; they'd all be pinioned upon her anyway.

Pushing the folder away, she leaned rebelliously in the uncomfortable steel chair. Determination filled her slender form like solid rock, staunchly holding her will against the sheriff and the bounty hunter who was now back on the force.

Placing her bound hands upon the table, she stared back just as icily as the blonde did her. Silver steel shackled hung tightly about the beauty's wrists like slave chains. The cold steel burdened her limbs with every simple actions that portrayed she in no way designed to break. She had been sitting in the same chair, in the same place for five hours straight and never had she uttered a single word against the gang lord. Questions bombarded her from all sides every moment under the harsh singular light, but she refused to give in to their harsh tactics.

A word nary left her mouth in her abject determination. She would say nothing for or against the gang lord nor against herself in anyway. They would have to work for every piece of ground to indite her and she would lead them into nothing but traps to shy them away from Mr. Gold.

The renewed deputy shook her head at the beauty's stubbornness, her mouth a grim line. "Alright, dig yourself deeper in this hole. Let's go over this again."

Abruptly as though the words were a cue, the door creaked open. "Emma, that's enough." Graham interjected softly as he entered the tiny steel room. Compassion flickered in his gray eyes as he pulled the tired beauty up from the seat. "Let's take her to a cell, we can question her tomorrow. She isn't going anywhere."

Though she knew the act was a tactful move to break down her defenses, appreciation seeped through her. Numbness and a peculiar needle-like pain ached in her legs with each step to the cell. Of course he would be the one to question her tomorrow, with the hope his kindness had loosened her up, but she wouldn't give him any information either.

Silently, the sheriff opened one of the tiny cells in the police headquarters. "We'll give you a little time to think, Belle, maybe you'll change your mind in the morning." He suggested softly as he released her from the cuffs.

Closing the door with a soft click, hope burned bright in his eyes. Truly he did not like seeing her in prison of remotely affiliated with Mr. Gold, but things certainly seemed to work out in such a deplorable manner.

Shaking her head stubbornly, the beauty padded over to the uninviting, gray blanketed cot nestled in the furthest corner. High above, a narrow window sat etched into the wall, showering down gray evening light. Everything in the world seemed gray, locked in the cell. A tired sigh fell from her mouth as she leaned her head against the cold concrete wall.

Closing her eyes, she began to cobble together what needed to be done before her blazingly swift trial and her incarceration. Transactions had to be made, people paid off, and of course a system set up for her behind bars. Though she attempted to think of those matters, her thoughts wandered to the notorious gang lord. Was he watching from afar, was he trying to think of a way to save her, or did he not care?

Probably the last, she determined inwardly, her mood plaintive. Saving her meant skirting his hands far to close to the fire of getting caught himself. Besides, with her taking the rap for everything the cases would be closed. He'd almost have a fresh page to perform his criminal deeds upon. What could be better for a man who lived a life of lethal crime?

"Belle." A loving, familiar voice blubbered out suddenly in the quiet station, taking her thoughts away from Mr. Gold and hurling them into an abyss.

Jerking open her azure eyes, the beauty turned to the door just in time to see her father walk in. A brown jacket and blue baseball cap donned his corpulent figure and a steel cane sat loosely gripped in his right hand. Fear and confusion lined his portly face as he shuffled close to the cage. He leaned lightly on a cane, his body much stronger than before when he could barely get out of bed and she could scarcely afford his medication.

"Papa." Belle rose numbly from the cot, her body moving with the vapidity of a dream. Padding to the bars she pressed herself as far as she could into the steel.

Grasping the cold, iron cage bars with a thick, tremulous hands, the former flower salesmen stared in horror at his child. "Belle how did this happen; is what they say true? Did you work for Mr. Gold?" His watery brown eyes searched her frantically as though hoping everything was all just some big mistake.

They were using her father to get a confession, Belle surmised instantly. Though the concern upon his sallow visage was all too real, she knew a ploy when she saw one. He probably thought he was going to help by goading out a confession from his daughter to help keep her name clean from the taint of the gang lord. The move was tricky and devious but far from ineffective.

"Don't worry about me, papa." The beauty remarked tenderly. Though she would not betray what lurked in her heart, she could offer him some comfort. Grasping his hands through the bars she squeezed his thorn pricked fingers lovingly. Her fingers regretfully traced his digits that once held her and picked her up and cared for her. Though she would miss him, her mind was indomitably made up. "I'll be alright and you'll be taken care of for the rest of your days."

He shook his head fiercely, his eyes reddening with tears unshed. "I'd rather have died in squalor in that filthy apartment than all this, Belle. I can't lose you to prison for the rest of your life. You're my daughter and I won't see you locked up and miserable."

"It'll be aright papa." Belle forced a thin laugh from the lump lodged in her throat. "I'll be fine."

Melancholy fell in a sigh from his lips. "If I hadn't been ill for so long I would have taken the blame you know." He smiled faintly to his daughter as though offering some form of consolation. "I tried to, but they had proof I was incapacitated when everything occurred. I just…. Belle." His voice choked tightly with her name.

"Papa…." Hot tears slipped from her eyes. Pain and shame shivered through her heart with a scorpion's acrid sting. How she would miss her beloved papa. Out of everyone perhaps he was suffering the most.

In that moment she very nearly broke down to her father, revealing all to explain her actions. Oh the ploy was a very good one indeed using her love and the ache in her heart to break down the determination. He didn't need this sort of thing, not when he was only just getting better.

"Times up." Emma stated coldly, stomping into the room.

Untangling his hands from hers, Moe wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Be safe, Belle, and please consider what you're doing."

Choked by emotion, the beauty watched her beloved papa limp out of the station. Striding vapidly, he shook his head faintly to the deputy before slowly walking away. He had done all he could, now he could only hope and pray things went fairly for his child.

Unsatisfied, at the failed ploy Emma remained where she stood. Arms crossed she stared daggers at the lugubrious beauty. "Is Mr. Gold worth all of this pain, or do you truly fear him so much?"

"I don't fear him at all." Belle finally spoke, her heart too deep in the gutter to care what little snippets she let fall free. As long as she didn't say anything revealing, Gold would never be caught.

Dubiousness etched Emma's grim features. "There has to be some reason. Nobody does something for nothing. You're willing to take the fall for him and so far I can't see the gain in that. Either your terrified of him or you're an idiot."

"None of the above." Belle retorted softly, forcing her pain away from the hide of her heart.

The blonde snorted derisively, her mouth twisted into an incredulous half frown. Rolling her eyes she turned away. "Then you must be madly in lo-." Jerking around to face the beauty, her eyes were wide as dollar coins.

Why hadn't she seen the fact sooner?

Shock danced in her azure depths at the sudden revelation that hit her with the force of a fist to the head. "You're taking the fall because you love him." She stated without a hint of doubt.

Though she remained silent, the beauty's eyes revealed the truth of the matter. Her jaw clenched into a vice, gripped tight, to hold the words bubbling and roiling in her tumultuous heart. How could she deny her ardor for the man? For no other would she willing give up her freedom.

"I've been there." Emma revealed passionately, her face paled by memory of hurtful days in her life past. "I went to prison for a man who said he loved me, a man who knew I carried his child, but when I needed him most, seems he loved his freedom more than me. Take it from someone who knows, Mr. Gold doesn't love you."

A soft smile spread upon Belle's lips. No matter how ridiculous she sounded or how logical Emma's words rang, she couldn't halt what blared in her heart. Never would she regret what she was doing. No hint of doubt lay ingrained in her soul. "He does, I know he does."

"And how is that?" Emma challenged fiercely. Arms crossed she sauntered closer to the cell door. "He's left you to rot in here like day old garbage. He isn't coming to your rescue; he won't come, so how can you honestly stand there and say that he loves you?"

"For one I can feel his love in my heart." Belle rebuffed, her smile never fading. "And two, he wouldn't have sent someone to get me out if he didn't."

Confusion alit the deputy's features at the strange words from the beauty's smiling lips before the realization hit her with all the alarm her body could muster. Before she could reach for her gun or turn around pain bloomed in her head and the world turned into blackness.

Standing over the prone deputy, a shaggy haired gambler sheathed a gun back into the waistband of his jeans. Blood dabbed the butt of his gun where he struck the blonde in the back of the head to incapacitate her.

Kneeling he snatched up the keys on her waist and began to unlock the cell. "One rescue, ready to go." Hood smiled crookedly as the door swung open. Pulling out an extra gun, the one Gold had gifted to the beauty, the gambler handed the firearm to her. "There you are. Just in case. Now hurry."

"Gold sent you?" Belle checked the antique gun and the silver bullets for herself as they moved through the station.

Christopher nodded. "Indeed he did. I owed you, remember." He skipped over the prone figure of the sheriff laying the same as Emma in the first hallway.

Blood matted his dark hair and dripped lethargically to the floor, already drying from the silent assault. Her father had probably seen Hood come in, and knew what was to happen, so he never raised the alarm. Want to help pulsed through the beauty, but she couldn't. Not when Gold went through so much trouble in a mad scheme to free her.

"Where is Gold now?" She panted as they burst from the station.

"At the warehouse, but that's not where we're headed." The gambler replied in a huff of milky vapors. Running across the road, he made straightway for a dull brown pickup truck in a dusty lot.

Leading her to the beat up brown truck, he peeled back a black tarp in the bed of the vehicle. A kings ransom of crisp bills all waiting to be spent sat heaped in the back of the truck. Scores of gray duffel bags brimming with cash were tied down in the back like buoys of riches just waiting to be used or hidden.

Folding the tarp back down carefully he shut the tailgate with a loud snap. "The money is yours save for one bag for me. He told me to take you to Boston or as far as this truck would go." He jerked his head back to the station. "Those two are going to wake up pretty soon so we need to leave now."

"Is he going to meet us there?" Belle asked, her gut twisting and thrilling with the escape all at once.

Now would be as good a time as any to skip town. Gold had international connections, ones that could get them anywhere in the world to the grandest city to the lowliest village if they so chose. Above all else, he knew when good business ran dry and how to make an exit with his gains.

Silently, the gambler hoped into the front seat. "We don't have any time to lose." He replied grimly as the engine roared to life.

"Is he going to meet us?" Belle echoed again as she slid into the passenger seat.

Focusing on the road, Hood refused to reply. His fingers tapped irritably against the wheel with every turn through the town. The less she knew, the less anyone knew, the better.

Immediately, Belle guessed from his silence and dodgy eyes what was amiss - Gold wasn't coming. "Take me to him." The brave beauty demanded calmly to her rescuer.

Hood tossed his head stubbornly. Amazement burned hotly in the eyes as he further put on the gas to leave the town as quickly as possible. "What? No, are you crazy? Gold gave me a job and I'm doing it. I'm not stopping until we reach the city."

On instinct, the gangster in Belle truly did come out. After all the months working with the gang lord and being in his business what force of being in the business brushed off of her sparked the tame beauty into an inferno. Wiping out her gun, the beauty forced the cold barrel to the gamblers scruffy jaw line. If asking politely wouldn't help then a rule from Gold's book was sure to get the message across.

The truck swerved slightly as he punched the brake in the middle of the barren roadway. Breath came falteringly from his lips as he stared straight, not daring to look her way. Who knew what the crazy woman who wanted to be with the monster would do.

"I wasn't asking, Christopher." The beauty replied dangerously, her finger perilously close to the trigger. "Either take me to him or get out of this truck right now."

A trickle of sweat brooked down his face nervously. "He's giving you freedom." He dared protest despite the gun to his face. No one knew what Gold had planned, but his clandestine actions were sure not to be good, and when whatever the fiend concocted occurred he didn't want to be in town to see.

She shook her head, her body aching to be with him. "Take me to him."

Compliant with the gun to his face, the gambler turned the truck around. A low curse fell from his lips as he drove in the opposite direction. Once he dropped her off, he determined in himself inwardly, he would make all haste to the Boston with the money.

With her desire to be with the gang lord, it wasn't as if she was going to need the funds. Most likely she would need a lawyer.

~8~8~

Gravel crunched under the truck tires as the gambler slowed at the gate to the warehouse complex at the other end of town. The numbered warehouses were dark and chained like metal mausoleums lined up for usage. A sleek black car was parked off at the very edge of the buildings in a clump of gray underbrush as though trying to blend in with the waning shadow.

Leaping out, the beauty barely had time to slam the door, before Hood took off. Gray grit and gravel spewed thickly into the cold air as he put on the gas and disappeared in the same cloud of dust in which he came.

Without looking back he made straightway for the town border. He refused to be caught by anyone who would take his cash away.

Uncaring, Belle raced to the steel wire gate wrapped around the complex. A thick chain held the gate barred, but no blockade was going to keep her away from him. Leveling her pistol to the chain she shot through the lock.

Thin lines of gray smoke and bright sparks sputtered from the shot but the aim was true. The thick chain tumbled away like a dead snake on the gravel, leaving her entry to his property. Opening the gate the beauty raced down the narrow passages. Determined with the urge to be by his side, she knew where he was going to be - Warehouse 47, his favorite for underhanded activities.

Racing through the complex, the world flashed by in a blur of steel and concrete as she came upon the door. Creeping quietly to the unit, true enough the metal garage like portal was open like all the other times she had been sent there.

With a grunt she opened the metal door just enough for entry and dipped inside. The warehouse was mostly dark without the huge lights at the top on or the sun shining through the high panes. A glow pulsed from one corner of the unit, like a dancing flame cavorting in the thick shadow.

Walking tenuously to the only spark of light, abruptly the stench of pungent gasoline and reeking plastic being cooked hit her nose. Alarm sparked in her heart like flecks of lightening. What was going on?

Peering into the darkness she caught his figure standing in front of bickering flames. A glow flickered against his thin body making him appear more shadow than man in the bleakness. His head was tilted down as he stared entranced in the red-orange fire, his back turned from her.

"You're early Miss Swann." He announced insipidly, his voice drenched thickly with hateful sarcasm. "You must have quite the hard head."

Breathless, the beauty staggered towards him. "Gold." The word came out almost akin to a song.

Jerking about, surprise coated the gang lord's features. In all his waiting he had not thought to hear that voice again. Was she an apparition come to see him in his last moments? She shouldn't have been there; she should have been halfway on the road to Boston.

"Belle?" Her name fell like a prayer from his mouth. "Belle what are you doing here? I told Hood to get you out of town."

"Don't blame Hood; I refused to let him take me." She toted the gun nervously in her grip. "So what's the plan? What's with the fire?"

Nearing the flames, she finally got a good look to what he was up to. Fire guttered merrily in a large, rusted metal trash can. A red plastic gas can clung in a melted mess on the insides, holding testament of the noxious odor. Manila folders lay scattered about at the base of the can, bereft of any papers; information, all lost by the gluttonous flames.

Turning to him, her brow beetled faintly. The red orange glow cast her features in a lovely hue of bronze and her hair into a coppery tinge as she stared at him. "You're burning evidence? Gold, Jefferson gave them everything."

"This isn't my evidence." He held the last picture in his hand.

The photo showed the gun she still carried and the casing lying on the strip club floor.

He had all the evidence he used to blackmail her with, Belle identified immediately, her heart racing. Realization hit her with a shocking force nearly forcing her back. He was burning away any links back to him.

Touched, but confused she turned back to him. "But Jefferson..."

"Has only a few real photos and documents of you, not everything. What he had of you were papers and photos to turn my crimes to you should I need a scapegoat." Gold remarked studiously. "The true one's I gave him won't put you too high on the wanted list; petty crimes mostly. I kept the most important, real pictures, for myself." A sigh crossed his lips as he tossed the last photograph in the flames.

Eagerly, the flames grabbed at the picture with undulating, fiery talons. The picture wafted upward on a draft as though getting away, but the tiny claws of flame dragged the photo down to the infernos ravenous maw like a helpless fly into a spider's mouth. Darkness fringed the edges of the picture as the photo quickly succumbed to ash and crisp blackness and was no more.

"I free you, Belle. You no longer have to fear any blackmail of any sort. And now you must leave." He sighed sadly, his eyes never leaving the dancing flames. "They'll be coming soon to arrest me."

He had of course, left a trail easily followed to his warehouse, with the thought to set his Belle in the opposite direction. With him and every ill deed in tow with his chains, they would let her be, he knew, and once the heat died off maybe she would come back into town or send money to get her Papa and take him wherever she lived.

Not only was the money in the back of the truck hers, he left everything in a private bank account that she could access at the right time. He wanted her lacking nothing. She would be rich a thousand times over with a brand new life. Bereft of all else, to give her the rest of his fortune was the least he could do for her.

She shook her head stubbornly, her azure eyes dancing in the brightness. "I won't leave you to stand alone to this. I am guilty as well."

"Don't make all this in vain." He pleaded tenderly, his body turning away from the flames. "I love you too much to see you fall with me."

Tear rimmed her cobalt eyes. "And I love you too much to see you fall alone. I won't leave you, not again, not even if you commanded me." Never again, she swore inwardly, never. She was his love and she would not abandon him to face those that hated him. She would not abandon him to loneliness. She would not abandon him to an empty heart.

A huff fell from his lips. "You are a stubborn woman." No malice or anger hinted his words though he knew truly she was not leaving his side. A sad smile tipped his lips as he brushed his knuckles against her porcelain cheek. "You are a brave woman. Stubborn and brave; Belle-of-mine."

Sirens blared out far in the distance like howling wolves narrowing in on prey as the words fell kindly from his mouth. The police were awake and not happy. Soon they would enter, find the right warehouse, and their lives would be over.

A soft grin hedged her mouth as she leaned up. If they were to go down, then they would go down in love.

Brushing his lips against hers for only a moment he captured her mouth with his in an enraptured kiss that proved his love and devotion. He was willing to give up everything for her, and give all up he did.

Caught in the sweetness of her lips, a pulse shuddered through him like a gust of fresh air through an old ruin. Some door long locked in the recesses of his mind burst free. A flash-flood of memories to jolted back into his tactile, ancient mind sending him almost reeling. He remembered the gray gold scales, the cur cripple, the coward who lost his son, Baelfire, and Belle, he remembered Belle, the one sent away, the one he thought was dead.

Gasping breathlessly, he untangled his lips from hers in the sudden surge. Peering intently into her gentle eyes, he saw the recognition that had long been missing in her azure depths, and in return she saw the knowing long locked away in his black heart.

"Rum." Belle breathed in a shaky sigh of relief, his pet name drifting disbelieving from her lips.

"Belle. My Belle." His bottom lip trembled as the words gushed from his mouth. So long he had thought her dead. The queen had told him so, and he had mourned for her, oh how he had mourned, but she was here, alive, and he'd been with her without knowing she was his Belle.

Shaking her head, the beauty looked about. Things were the same but somehow different. She knew their current situation, just not why "Why are we in this place? Why aren't we in our old world? What's happening?"

"There is far too much to explain." The fiend informed her hurriedly. "You need to leave." He prompted in abject desperation, his chest aching at the words. He was not willing to see her behind bars, more so now than ever. Never again did she deserve to be locked in any cage.

Lovingly petting a quaking hand through her thick russet tresses he forced his selfish want for her to be near away. "While we are ourselves the town is still enthralled under the curse. The curse breaker has not broken the vile enchantment for everyone. We'll be caught still and charged as criminals."

Tossing her head, she grabbed his hands in a vice. Tears that threatened to fall brimmed in her cobalt eyes like glittering stars. "No. We go down together. I would not go even if you sent me away. Memory or no memory I love you."

"And I love you Belle. Forgive me for sending you away. I was a fool. You were right; everything you said was true in the end." He crashed his lips frantically against her once more, now with the knowledge of who she was.

Belle in his arms, her sweet lips pressed against his. Oh was there any sweeter bliss to be found in all the realms?

The moment was bitter sweet for he had only just found her again before they were destined to be caught by officials. Who knew what would be done to them after they were caught? Would they cart his Belle away, would they part them from one another clutches though they found one another's arms for the first time in decades?

The sirens roared out in the warehouse complex, their screeching muffled by the thick metal doors and concrete walls. Tire screeched and crunched against the gravel telling of the police coming to apprehend them.

Hugging her tight to his thin body, he whispered into her ear. "I'll explain everything when we have time, I promise."

"I trust you." She laid her head in the crook of his neck. Her arms held him in a vice that refused to let him free.

"Get on the ground!" Emma roared as the door slammed open to the warehouse.

Light from dozens of cruisers barreled into the dim confines of the unit, alighting the warehouse like a sunny afternoon. Both beauty and beast raised their hands up, temporarily blinded by the scorching lights.

Without lifting a hand to reach for their weapons, the couple did as they were bid. Slowly sinking down to the gritty floor, the reunited, pair silently allowed themselves to be put into cuffs.

Helping them both up, the deputy beamed victoriously as they were marched out of the unit. Cops with shotguns lined the unit like an honor guard as beauty and the beast were finally taken.

"We finally got them." The blonde smiled triumphantly as they put the duo into the back of the cruiser. Pointing to the gang lord through the dark tinted window, her smile dripped victory. "I finally got you where I want you."

Looking through the window, Gold only smiled impishly in reply. He would have chuckled if his black heart was in any mood for irony.

~8~8~

Once booked and charge again at the station, both gang lord and librarian were shoved into the same cell. The act went against protocol, but Emma was lenient to allow two supposed 'lovers' what little time they had left before a perhaps two week trial would ship them off to different penitentiaries. Besides, she figured, they would have lots of time to figure who was going to blame whom.

"Enjoy the stay you two." Cockiness laced her tone as she backed away from the cell. Her eyes darted about the occupied cell almost as though trying to snap a mental picture of the moment of defeat. They almost made a cute couple, she noted to herself before memorizing the moment in her mind. Never would she forget the day she managed to defeat Mr. Gold.

Circling the thick key ring around one finger, the deputy and sheriff and all the police active in taking them down left the station in a wave of merriment. After years, the beast of Storybrooke was taken down!

The entire town was in riotous celebration for the news even so late in the night. Granny's was packed to the rafters, music throbbed from the speakers, and every drink was on the house from the grateful citizens who all wished to buy rounds to celebrate the momentous occasion.

Finally, Gold was in prison with enough irrefutable evidence to put him away for life! Nothing could beat such glorious news!

Awkward silence permeated the station as beast and beauty were left alone to their own devices. Neither looked fully at the other, both closed away with their own thoughts and the memories reborn.

Taking off his jacket, the fiend lay the expensive fabric on the floor. His eyes focused anywhere but his Belle as he spread out the suit jacket. "You, uh, take the bed, Belle." He rubbed the back of his burning neck nervously.

Now with all the hype died away and gone from them, the thoughts of what he had done came back to the forefront of his thoughts. Long ago he had sent her away in a haze of wrath and cowardly fear, denying his love over his power. He had left her with nothing but a broken heart.

Pain stabbed into his heart at the shameful thought. She couldn't have forgotten his rejection or their last words.

Now that the tumult was died down, surely she would recall the ills done to her. Surely she would remember the monster he had been to her. She would recall he had spirited her away from her kin and made her a slave only to deny his love when truly they found ardor in one another then sent her away knowing others would look down upon her as an outcast and a tainted freak.

Sitting on the edge of the hard cot she stared at him, a soft hint of a smile on her lips. "There's just enough room for two."

"I know, but you probably…." His words drained away, dried by the love in her eyes. How could lover shine so brightly?

"I meant what I said earlier, Rum. I love you. No matter what you've done, no matter what was said." She echoed quietly. "I've spent far too long without you, without knowing you were my Rum. I don't want any distance between us anymore."

Touched by her words, the Dark One stared awed at her. Truly, she was his Belle once more, ever forgiving, ever loving, ever Belle.

Silently, happily, both monster and beauty lay down on the tiny cot in the small cell. The sounds of celebration wafted faintly through the high, barred windows as they managed to share the sorry excuse for a bed. Nestled in his arms, the beauty laid her head on his chest. Laying mostly on their sides, they faced one another. For the first time in 28 years they were truly together as Rumpelstiltskin an Belle. A lifetime had passed and they had all night to catch up and explain what lay opened in their hearts.

His wiry arms encircled her, promising to protect her from whatever may come as she snuggled closer to him. Though he was in a cell, with no way out nothing was amiss in his life. They were caught but finally they were together.

His business, his gang didn't matter now with her so close. He cared not an inkling what they would try do to him now that he was caught. Nothing mattered but his Belle and his thoughts of the life he knew before Mr. Gold. He remembered his course, his life, his tasks, and he was there with his Belle.

Tomorrow, he knew, they would have to fight, but for the moment all was right in the world.


	14. Memories

_A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing guys and gals! I just realized we are in the last stretch of no OUaT! Ready for season 3 everybody!?_

**~8~8~**

Cold shafts of honeyed light brightly trickled through the tall concrete window high above Rumpelstiltskin and his Belle. The golden dawn illuminated the prison filling the caged room with bleary sun. Gray dust motes filtered through the soft autumnal rays dancing in the dawn before delicately falling away to obscurity about the small cell.

For the Dark One and his Belle, the morning was the greatest of days ever dawned upon the accursed town. While they had awoken confined in a cell with separation hanging like a blade over their heads, they had awakened together with the knowledge of who they were and the admittance that they loved one another with no denial or anger in their once bemired hearts.

Curled in one another's arms like conspired lovers they talked of their future and the plans he had woven for Storybrooke and the inhabitants that walked about aimless of their old selves. He spoke of his son, lost to his cowardice and the plot to find his boy and make things right anew. Though his actions were disreputable, the effects were in motion and there was no way to reverse the hand of fate.

In the cool of the darkness with the warmth of the beauty's body nestled close, Rumpelstiltskin revealed his expansive plot well into the night before falling into tranquil sleep unseen in decades. Though they spoke of the not so distant future that night they were both to cowardly to broach the veil pinioned over the past; a past awash with hurt.

"So what happened after you left the castle?" Gold finally asked bravely as he shifted her slightly in his arms under the hazy flaxen light of dawn.

Though they spoke long into that night till they both were asleep, they had tactfully danced around the most hurtful, shame filled questions.

Where had she gone?

What did he do when she left?

Why did they never find one another?

Cowardly, he had put the inquiry off as long as he dared, but now with the light shining down on her milky skin, her still warm in his arms when he thought at moments in the night she must be but a dream of a mourning heart, his courage was bolstered in his chest. In face of anything, she loved him, he consoled himself, and that perhaps would see them through the burning questions needing to be doused.

Sighing, she comfortably laid her head under his chin. A small ray of light danced over her skin and thick chestnut mane transforming her into almost an angelic being in his grasp. Her lush mouth dipped into a slight frown as she snuggled even closer to his wiry body under the itchy gray blanket. "I walked mostly, uncertain what to do with my freedom. I really hadn't planned after the thought of forever being indentured in the Dark Castle, but with my emancipation, a whole new world was opened to my eyes so I just ambled about where I pleased mostly and thought about my life." She revealed quietly.

"When I needed a place to sleep or something to eat I earned food and a spot on common rooms floors in the roadway inns by being a bard or working in the kitchens. I took my time, pondering if I wanted to go back home to my papa or live my dream and see the world and the mysteries I long read about." A smile curved upon her lips at the bitter sweet fond memories of freedom of her days roaming about like a wild woman with no hearth to call home. "If I went back to papa, he would have probably never let me out of his sight again so I chose to follow my dream."

Kissing the top of her head, the fiend smiled softly to his Belle. His thumb traced the ridges along her spine as he allowed himself to drown in her lovely voice, so long lost. "I always thought you would." He rumbled in amused reply. "Your nose was always tucked away in those adventure books and journals."

More than once in the Dark Castle, he had considered taking her with him on some of his more mundane travels and errands, but he feared the small ounce of freedom and adventure would spark and unquenchable longing and unhappiness in her while she toiled in the drafty halls of his citadel. He assumed, while watching her gaze out the massive windows, he was doing her a mercy and not cruelly tempting her to flee by taking her about on his ramblings. Better, he thought at the time, to let her read than allow her the sweet taste of freedom that would never be hers again.

"I always thought of having such adventures I read about." The beauty smiled faintly at her naivety. "But my adventures weren't quite like what was in the books. In one of my last, I helped defeat a monstrous fire beast that turned out to be a prince named Philip cursed by a cruel evil queen."

"Not with a kiss I hope." He joked mischievously with a tilted grin. Though his words were in jest, a faint growl thundered in his throat. Jealously sparked like tiny flames in his umber eyes leaving no illusion to his emotions burning deep in his soul. Though he loved her with all his heart, she was his and his alone.

Part of him new he should not have been so possessive of her, but the beast in him was never willing to let anything, especially his Belle, go again and be lost to his heart.

Amused, the beauty tossed her head. "No, not a kiss. But a warrior woman named Mulan who aided me decided to help him once he was restored to his human form. I think there was a spark there betwixt them." Her smile dipped into a frown once again. "After my adventure I realized I should never have left the Dark Castle. By curing the fire demon I realized that love can never be just given up so quickly. I decided to go back and show you how much I loved you, that I was not the queen's pawn, but then…."

"Regina." The hated moniker hissed like a filthy curse from betwixt his thin lips. His sinewy muscles tensed at the name as though her title were a lash to his soul.

Regina, even the detested name set his ichor to boiling in his veins. The vile snake had planted the seeds that ruined what he had with his Belle. She was an arrogant harpy who couldn't bear seeing anyone happy, much less her mentor the Dark One.

Nodding, the beauty pressed her body close to his as though relieving some horrid nightmare. Fingers curled tight around the remnants of his suit, she buried her face into the side of his neck. "She apprehended me on the road and put me in a cage to take me to her castle." She explained tremulously, her voice muffled by his skin.

"I thought I'd be taken to her dungeons, but the warrior woman, Mulan, and the saved prince came to my aid when we were about to leave the land of the fire demon. They freed me from the cage and we were about to get away when she caught us again. Mulan and Philip made their escape but I was trapped once more. I thought she was going to kill me or at least put me back into the prison wagon, but she had something worse planned. She thought that perhaps you would find me out in her dungeon so she abandoned the idea. She vowed that I would never see you again, that I would never make it to your estate. So she…." Her words faltered in her tight throat, falling into a quiet pain.

Steeling herself stoically with her love so close, she continued on. "She banished me halfway across the world hundreds of thousands of miles from the Enchanted Forest I knew or the Dark Castle." Hot tears spilled form her eyes. "In all my days I would have never made the journey back. My bones would have been dust before I got even halfway, but still I was determined to try."

The journey was an exhausting one, one that she knew she would never make in two hundred years, but one she forged on to her love. Every step was for him, to regain the love they lost even through she knew the march was a hopeless venture for a love that might not be returned.

"Oh Belle." His words choked with loving comfort against her pain. Crushing her tight against him, he gave every bit of his love to her he could. No matter what had transpired, she was there now and they were one.

Anger stirred in his heart like a sleeping giant to see her foul memories resurface and cause her such blistering agony. What trials must she had endured in a strange realm with no allies or friends? How she must have been tried to her very soul with the knowledge she was determined to see a monster who tossed her out to a world that would hate her and perhaps truly did not love her.

"What did you do to survive?" He asked delicately, not wishing to plumb anymore pain from the depths of her heart with blunt questions. Though he detested to ask further he had to know how she managed to live in such hostile territory all alone.

The southern realms, the other half of the rumored endless, enchanted forest, where the sea met the land was known to be hostile, perilous territory. Ogres still roamed freely in those woods, and the people were mistrusting and some just downright cruel to their fellow man. Their murderous kings were despots and all of them underhanded curs and so were many of the townsmen's in the kingdoms there. A stranger would find no welcome and perhaps a dagger in the back for what little they had or worse.

Silence crystallized betwixt them like fronds of ice at his inquiry. Wallowing in the quiet, the Dark One listened to their drumming hearts beat tremulously as one. Worry swelled in fiends black heart in the face of her stony silence. Had he gone too far with his query, or was the pain to much to be recalled for his lovely Belle?

As the thoughts teemed shamefully through his mind, the beauty trembled at his side. Her body shook timidly against him almost as though sobbing. She felt tiny beside him, like a scared lost girl who endured a nightmare.

Panic welled in the fiend, brighter than any fear he felt in all his long years as the Dark One or Mr. Gold. Were his words to much? Was the memory too much?

Sorrowful apology heavy upon his lips, he looked down only to see the exact opposite of scarring agony laced upon her features. Laughter quietly fell from her smiling mouth with such merriment her body shook. Mirth danced in her eyes till they watered with tears of joy instead of torment.

Confusion and wariness marred his features towards her sudden glee. Had the thoughts truly marred her? "Belle?" He spoke her name softly. "What's so funny?"

"I…" She gasped through sweetest laughter. "I became a bandit."

A disbelieving smile tipped his lips with her words. "A criminal?"

She nodded, her spurt of mirth subsiding in a mire of foul memories. "Ironic isn't it, but my choice was for necessity. No one would trust a stranger, nor help anyone in need. I had to steal and rob to just get by. Sometimes a merchant would pay me to smuggle pricey goods into a city they couldn't get in to. I'm not proud of my actions, but what I did was a living in a land where livings are hard to come by."

"That explains how you were so good at smuggling things here." He remarked with a dastardly smile.

Abruptly his smile fell from his lip as though torn from his visage. Knowing his Belle the actions must have killed her on the inside, having to rob others and cause innocence pain. Shaking his head, he buried his nose in her thick umber tresses, his voice a whisper. "I wish I could have saved you from that. I wish I had found you and taken you back home with me."

Slowly, Belle tilted her head up to him. Curiosity danced in her eyes with words not spoken but there all the same. Her fingers traced swirls under his chin, her heart nervous for what brimmed in her soul. "Did you ever…?" Her words drifted away, unable to speak past the anxiousness lodged in her throat.

"Think of you?" He finished the question she could not. Clutching her tight, his words hissed sorrowfully passionate from his mouth. "Everyday, Belle. I thought of you every single day, every hour for all those days till the last moment of the curse. When the smoke washed over me, yours was the last name on my lips. You were in my dreams, forever branded upon my heart; I could never forget Belle-of-mine. I never wished to lose any memory of you after…."

Closing his eyes to fight the pain resurging, he steadied himself with a deep breath. "Please don't think I never wished to search for you or that I never thought to bring you back. The queen told me you died. She said you were tortured and jumped from a tower. If I had known that harpy was lying, I would have raced to the ends of the earth for you and brought you back home, I swear."

Pain from the words so acridly spoken from the queen's ruby glossed lips stabbed afresh in his palpitating heart. He would never forgive himself for believing her cruel words about his loves demise. After what Belle went through he would never accept his cowardice for tossing her out and forcing such hardships upon her shoulders.

"You were right." His voice croaked hoarsely. "All I had left was an empty heart and a chipped cup. You were the last good thing in my life, but I was… _I am _a slave to power and control, a slave to my fear, and I let those things take away the best things in my life, you and my son." A single tear slipped from his eye with the memories and the torment his wounded heart succumbed to.

For a brief moment, the fiend a longing for the mind of Mr. Gold, bereft of the Dark One sparked like a bright flames that could never be again in his soul. At least cursed the memories were locked away, but now the gash was reopened leaving only a red, infected wound that would never heal.

Placing her hands on either side of his face, she kissed him deeply upon the lips, her love a balm to the burning pain. Pulling away, tears shimmered in her azure eyes as she searched him. The want of redemption danced in his brown orbs, stoking her love for him into an inferno. "None of that matters anymore." She whispered tenderly. "The pain, the banishment, we are together now, forever."

"How can you forgive me?" His voice rasped hollowly, still astounded at her acceptance. Grasping her hand close to him, he stared amazed into her eyes. "After everything I did to you, monster that I am?"

Closing her eyes she laid her hands on his chest. "Love conquers all Rum. And." She kissed him upon the nose, her voice soft as her porcelain skin. "You are not a monster."

"That's debatable." He rumbled in a melancholic laugh deep in his chest. "The townspeople would beg to differ after what I have done and they are right. I will not lie to you and say I have fully shaken off the chains of my slavery. Power and fear still fetter me to their will at times, and I am a weak in even this man flesh." He admitted shamefully, his head turned away from her beauty and released her hands as though not worthy to touch her. "No matter what you still believe or what you see, I fear I am still a monster."

Stalwart in her love, she snuggled against him. Her hand pressed against his cheek forcing him to look at her. A smile gently curved upon her lips for the Dark One as she whispered tenderly. "Then let me love the monster."

~8~8~

"We got them!" Emma swaggered victoriously in the mayor's office, her eyes glinting sharply with every step in the black and white motif room. "I told you I would."

"Yes." Regina replied insipidly, her glossy lips pulled into a half smile as the deputy stopped in front of her desk.

Though she felt emboldened by the fact Gold was behind bars, having Emma Swann be the one to do such a feat left a bad taste upon her tongue. More and more she was getting closer to Henry and things were happening that should not have been. In the months that passed, her grip on the town was being threatened all because of one little woman who came riding into a town when she shouldn't have.

Smiling, the deputy tossed the thick file report on the mayor's neat desk. "Got his secret accomplice too." She preened to add extra flare to her capture.

"Oh?" The mayor's brow arched in sudden interest. That little detail had been on her mind somewhat. The town hadn't had a good mystery in ages, much less connected to Gold.

Emma crossed her arms. "Yep, someone no one would have suspected. The librarian, Annabelle French."

Belle French!

Blood drained from the harpy's face as though the name belonged to a long dead ghost come back from the dead to haunt her soul. Rumpelstiltskin's true love was his ally?

Panic hinted at the mayor dark basalt heart with the words that spelled a fault in the curse. How had that foolish, love-stricken, little slave girl actually managed to entwine herself into Rumpelstiltskin's life again after such careful planning!

For years they hadn't said more than a few tenuous words to one another, now to find she was one of his gang!

"_True love's kiss can break any curse." _The words she'd told a freed Belle upon the forest path rang back to her like an old funeral dirge.

Was that fact true now?

But no, she soothed herself immediately from such ludicrous thoughts screaming in her mind. Gold had not shown a hint of knowing of his old life in years. If they were together perhaps their union was only coincidence wrought of a desperate hand. But, she debated to herself grimly, knowing that toad skinned imp, nothing happened by coincidence.

Still, the town was the same and if he remembered then so what? No one would believe him in the slightest. As long as he possessed no magic and as long as no one else but his servant girl recalled their true world, then he was still powerless sitting in prison as a gang lord. Some might even think they were trying to collaborate an insanity plea, if they even did remember.

Collecting herself, the mayor leaned back heavily in her seat. Liabilities were still in play, but perhaps not so much so in the broader view of things. Whatever Rumpelstiltskin had planned could come to fruition, but only if he remembered, and that she doubted very much.

Still, she remarked inwardly, she wasn't keen on taking chances, especially with the Dark One. Something would have to be done and swiftly to make sure that if any curses weren't broken that fact would stay that way.

"Thank you Miss Swann, you are an infallible asset to the force for putting that terrible man away." She managed a sincere looking smile though her words dripped hated bile for the blonde.

With a nod, the deputy turned and walked away to find Henry and tell him all the good news.

Watching her leave, the mayor's lips twisted into a conniving smirk born of an evil will to see all who would oppose her crushed under her heel. Once the blonde had departed, the harpy produced an antique bronze key from a gold chain about her neck. Making certain no one was about or would be soon, she vapidly slid the key into a gargoyle-like lock at the base of the furniture and opened a drawer on her desk.

A small click echoed about the room as the drawer that had not been opened for 28 years slid free. Delicately, she plucked the singular content of the locked drawer up with pinched, painted fingers bringing forth a small, dusty crystal container.

The vial was a trinket she had been saving for decades for the right moment if ever the moment came. Black ooze bubbled in the phial and every so often the image of a grinning skull formed in the noxious liquid only to melt away.

Swirling the fluid, the witch preened over her poison. The remnants used to put Snow White to sleep would be a perfect means to deal away with the thorn in her side.

Now that Miss Swann had proved her usefulness, the time had come to be rid of her.


	15. The Price of Magic

_A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Classes are getting ridiculous so I can't promise any steady updates _T.T.

_P.S Writing block is not fun. ._

**~8~8~**

"How long are we to stay in this prison?" Belle asked gently, her slender figure nestled against her love. Her body curved into his wiry figure like two doves resting in a nest as the lounged in their prison.

The days seemed to drag on with only a short preliminary trial by a judge who set no bail to their capture. To fear them running was a useless worry since none could leave the town. Even if the strict judge had set bail they'd be prisoners still with only a little more freedom.

A soft smile graced his thin lips as he kissed her forehead tenderly to assuage her desire for freedom. "Am I really that bad of company?" He teased cheekily, his eyes dancing with impish delight of old.

Though he knew of the hand of fate working to their gain to sever the curse, he felt her pain for her restlessness. Once a prisoner in the Dark Castle she had loathed her tiny cell that was bereft of any comfort for even the lowliest of slaves, and all the cage stood for. At nights her muffled weeping reverberated off the slimy, black dungeons walls and drifted up through the palace like a dense mist. He had not cared at the beginning, but slowly his cold heart wore down to her tears in the night. As they became companions, her living conditions were something he had rectified in his own clandestine manner.

Giving her a room had been his first kindness to her, and everything had gone down hill in a slew tangled web of emotions and surreptitious feelings after that! She had been utterly grateful, and he had discovered seeing her happy made his heart delight and brighten.

"You know I don't think you poor company, Rum." She replied in a sigh. "But do you think we'll be out soon?"

Looking up at the dark gray, peeling ceiling he offered a noncommittal shrug. "Hard to tell really. Things haven't exactly gone as planned." At that, self deprecation swathed his features. "I was supposed to do things, handle instances to lead the curse breaker in the right direction. But with the curse affecting me, none of those things came to fruition. My only hope is that my machinations were fool proof enough to still lead us to the end of this journey."

"Will thin-." Belle got not further as foot steps thundered down the station hall.

The sound of heels clicking and scuff of boots echoed about the sheriff's station as though people were running for their lives. In the blink of an eye deputy and mayor stood breathless in the room. Panic danced equally in both of their eyes, their body trembled with a fear that only loving mothers could know. Chests heaving, they greedily gulped down air as they stood shakily in the prison hold.

A smirk twitched slightly upon the Dark One's lips as he untangled Belle from his arms and arose from the cot. His actions were once more like a cat along a thin fence, smooth and precise with every step known before hand. "Well, isn't this a nice surprise." The fiend stood at the gray bars, his cane out forward. Cocking his head slight to the right, his body exuded a gang lord's swagger once more. "Regina, Emma, what brings you by for a visit?" He queried almost mockingly, his voice smooth and eased per usual.

Regina's heels clicked a steady tempo as she vapidly walked to the gray cell. She seemed almost enraptured in an enchantment till stopping at the bars that separated them. Opposite one another, they looked akin to crafty dragons eying one the other for a move to begin a bloody combat.

Tactfully, her eyes searched the two, looking for a hint of revelation in their shining orbs. "Who are you?" The words fell in a demanding whisper from the mayor's puckered ruby mouth.

Placing both hands on his cane, the fiend smirk widened into a wicked grin. "Why Mr. Gold of course, but I do believe you know me elsewhere as the one and only Rumpelstiltskin."

"So everything Henry said was true." Emma barged to the cell next to the mayor. Amazement mingled with her already blazing panic danced wildly in her wide eyes. Looking to Regina to the Dark One, her jaw swung open. "There really is a curse?" She prompted in abject disbelief.

Gold nodded in silent reply, his smile never fading. Now that the curse breaker knew, things would have to progress rapidly.

Running a tremulous hand through her golden tresses she tossed her head as though shaking free long lodged precepts of reality caught in the crannies of her mind. A breath of pure astonishment fell from her lips at the world rocking news. "That means… Mary Margaret…." Abruptly, she pushed the thought away. Now was not the time to be thinking of that particular family. "That means Henry really isn't physically sick." Before any could blink she rounded on Regina. Murder crackled like lightening off her body as she pinioned her accusing eyes upon the mayor. "You poisoned Henry."

"That apple turnover was meant for only you, Miss Swann." Regina rebuffed meekly.

"Something's happened to Henry?" Belle piped up for the first time, her voice laced with concern for the precious boy. Walking to her Rum, she stood at his side to face the two who long sought to do them in when the thought them no more than dangerous criminals.

Regina nodded tersely, her russet eyes not looking to meet another's. "I put the last of the potion I used to be rid of Snow White in an apple turnover I gave to Emma. The liquid was only meant to induce a permanent sleep, but… magic is unpredictable here, and the effects on Henry are… killing him."

"Can you help us Gold or Rum… Rump… or whatever your name is?" Emma pleaded fervently. If what Regina claimed was true, Mr. Gold was their last hope.

"Of course, Miss Swann." He dipped his head in a slight bow. Raising a hand he pointed to the bars confining him and his Belle. "But first there seems to be a matter of imprisonment."

Unlocking the cell, Emma stepped back from the cage as though she had just released a wild beast.

Freed, the Dark One smiled politely at the pair. "Thank you. Now that that's settled, follow me to my shop. The implements we need obtain the cure lies there."

As he walked out, abruptly, the barred door slammed shut again. The clash of steel jarred through his mind with a resounding clang that filled boiling dread in his soul. Jerking around, his eyes searched for the trouble and found the problem.

Belle remained on the other side.

Panic and confusion marred her beautiful visage as she grasped the bars still holding her back. Her azure eyes searched him, pleading to be free.

"Collateral, Gold." Regina revealed cunningly, her mouth a ruby frown. "Just because we've been here for 28 years doesn't mean I don't remember the games you can play. Miss French stays here until we receive a cure and not one of your tricks."

Staring at Regina, he seemed ready to take his cane and bludgeoned her over the head until she would no longer awaken. After Belle's tale, he had no desire to leave his love a pawn in the grand game with Regina as the opponent. If nothing else could be said about the harpy she knew how to use and hurt people to her whims.

Anger stole across his features like dark thunder clouds to see his Belle still confined. His grip tightened over his gold handled cane as though he truly meant to see through his desire. Abruptly, his grip relaxed. Rage fled from his face like mist evaporating in the summer sun.

Nodding he nudged his head to the exit. "Give us a moment then."

Quickly both mayor and deputy scurried out leaving the Dark One and his Belle alone.

"Rum?" The beauty's delicate brow crinkled in confusion. He could have demanded her out and free and they would have had no choice but to obey to save Henry. Why had he agreed to the terms when they were at his mercy?

Clasping her hands through the bars he held them tight. Regret flashed in his eyes as he shook his head solemnly. "This won't take long, Belle. I'll come back for you, but things are about to get very dangerous. This is probably the safest pace to be."

Though his words were sincere she read the words not spoken in his chestnut orbs. Something else lay deep in his eyes, a hidden agenda that remained tucked away in his cragged soul. "You're planning something." She remarked almost in accusation. "And you don't want me to be there because you know I'll stop you from doing whatever it is you think you need to do."

"Belle." He began, but the words died upon his lips. Try as he might to deny the words he couldn't. Never could he lie to his beloved and never did he wish to.

A sigh of exasperation fell from his lips at the quandary. Why did she have to spark the dry wick of such feelings of good and guilt in him? Why did she have to stir his long forgotten goodness? "Belle, there are two things that own my heart. The ones I love and my power. I have to do this; I can't let anything get in the way." He brushed her knuckles with a kiss. "Everything will be alright. You'll see."

Stepping away from the bars, she shook her head. "Please don't do anything you'll regret, Rum."

Turning away, he shook his head sorrowfully. Her words were like an arrow to his chest scoring deep into his heart. "I can't promise that."

"Rum." Belle called his name as he walked away.

Unable to respond, he forced her voice out of his head. No one could turn him from his quest. Not even his one true love. But by heaven itself if she didn't come close.

~8~8~

Contrary to what Rumpelstiltskin claimed, the wait was a tedious one marked with time etched along in worry. Hours ticked by in the loneliness of the station, bereft of contact from any. Sitting, standing, pacing, Belle languished for hours in the cell, her heart a whirl with thoughts of her Rum. Thoughts blazed rabidly in her mind with what her Rum had planned. What was his angle, and what was he going to do that he couldn't chance her voice in his mind telling him to do the right thing?

Twilight hedged the rim of the world as Belle leaned wearily against the concrete wall. A tremor had shaken the town hours ago but that was all she'd felt and hadn't seen anything of note. Even standing on the paltry cot she couldn't see very well out the window and what she could see was nothing more than a weed ridden parking lot and tangled forest land threatening to take back the land bordered the curb.

"Where are you, Rum?" Belle sighed quietly in dismay. Leaning her head against the wall, she looked up to the sky as though the answer to assuage her worry would be etched upon the ceiling.

"That's what we all would like to know." Regina replied sharply as she stalked into the prison like a prowling feline.

Shadow and the last rays of light seeping through from the bullet proof windows danced for dominance upon her flesh as she stalked into the station. Barely subdued anger flinted like chipped glass in her brown eyes. Malice tensed through her body with every step that neared the beauty. Her mouth was a regal frown as she all but stalked up to the cell. A different emotion Belle had never seen crackled from her like lightening racing against her flesh.

Jumping to her feet, Belle met the witch on the other side of the bars. "What's happening? When's the last time you saw Rumpelstiltskin." She demanded fearlessly to her former captor.

"The last time I saw that toad he tied me to a chair and stole the potion meant to save Henry!" Regina snapped, her pearly teeth glinting in a crimson snarl.

Disbelief hummed through Belle at the flagrant claim. Though she knew her love was up to something dastardly he would never steal the last hope of a dying child. He was not that kind of monster… was he?

The stubborn beauty tossed her head unwilling to accept her words. "You're lying. Rum would never do such a thing! He has darkness in him but he would never do something so vile!"

"Well, 'your Rum', did." She spat back nastily, her ruby lips twisted into a sneer at the loving pet name. "Now my son is dying with no hope to save him! As we speak he is taking his final breath." Swallowing hard, her voice choked into silent agony. The words were as a hand clenching about her throat even as they erupted from her mouth.

After everything, her son, the only one she cared for in her life was dying away with nothing so save him.

Slowly slipping a hand into her pocket she brought forth a small silver pistol. Tears raced down her pallid cheeks as she brought up the gun to the beauty. "I was going to the hospital to be with him in his final moments, but then I thought, why should I weep over my son, when I can hurt the man who doomed him." Her vengeful words came hard between barely pried lips.

Holding her hands up, the beauty forced her azure eyes to stay on Regina and not the gun pointed at her head. Her heart tumbled wildly like a falling bird in her chest and churned her gut into a boiling pot of terror with death looming so near in the darkening shadows.

Shaking her head vapidly, she forced her words to be firm. "I know you're hurting but vengeance is not the answer."

"People always told me that, but they're wrong." She blubbered through her anger and sorrow. "You know what I say is true, but you still wish to defend a monster and tote my 'vengeance' as your only defense. You can't see the good in that… that beast."

Compassion for the woman who once banished her surged through Belle's brave heart. Though she was a deplorable witch she was Henry's mother. The woman was evil, but still a spark of good glimmered through her soul. She was there only because her son was dying and her last hope was extinguished by the Dark One.

"I'm sorry about your son." She replied lamely, uncertain what else to say to a grieving mother.

Had her son passed, she too would have sought a place to bury her pain and anger as well by any means, Belle surmised inwardly. Could she really blame Regina for her lust to hurt the man who hurt her?

"You have a sense of justice, Belle. Do you think things fair as they stand? Do you believe I should lose my son to your one true love's own self interest? Do you think things right that I come home to an empty house with the only the memories of my son to comfort me and haunt my lonely home while he gets to hold his love?" She shook her head stubbornly as though banishing any kind of hesitation or doubt. "No."

Nodding warily, the beauty hung her head. What words did she have to balm an aching mother's heart sliced to shreds? How could she defend what she knew was the truth from Regina? How could her love let a boy die?

"Perhaps you're right." She stepped closer to the bars. "Perhaps this is what's meant to be fair. Magic, after all, does come with a price."

Cocking the hammer back, the harpy leveled the gun to the beauty. "Don't worry." She smiled maliciously through tears. "This will hurt less than the pain that will scar in his heart."

Courage glinted in Belle's azure eyes as she stared directly at the witch. She would not beg or plead for her life against useless odds. There was no way she could miss from such a distance. Even if she huddled in the further corner of the cell, she would be a target that couldn't be missed by even the poorest of aim.

Warily squeezing the trigger, the mayor had only a second to see the beauty before a pulse of pure, radiant energy raced through them. In that moment the curse was severed, the magic lifted from the dying Henry, but the die was cast, the bullet sent.

Even as the bullet sailed through the air, dark purple thunderclouds enshrouded them. Roars of magic boomed thunderously in their ears, effectively blocking the crack of the pistol. A hazy flicker of hoary light from the barrel spurted like an orb of lightening through the lilac morass then succumbed to the dark purple mass of fog.

Just as soon as the roiling cloud descended the purple smoke alleviated. Sinuous tendrils of damson magic that clung to the gray floor and the window ledges swirled up to disintegrate into the night air. Something powerful, more powerful than anything in the world had just washed over them. Not only was the curse broken, but something else stirred through the air.

Tensed protectively, Belle felt the mist graze her skin like nimble fingers skirting lightly over her flesh. The smoke seemed to caress her like the hands of its master. Daring to see what had occurred, the beauty narrowly peeped her eyes open. The bullet, hovering in mid-air sat an inch from her face.

"Well, well, Rumpel was up to something rather titanic." Regina remarked shrewdly, her eyes pinioned upon the bullet.

Laconically waving her hand, the witch tossed the static projectile away. Silver pinged against the concrete and rolled unto the floor in the next cell safely away from the beauty.

Nervously Belle's eyes followed the bullet. The ruined metal rolled slowly by the next bed over in the other cell before rolling under the next cot. Relief mingled with anxiousness flowed through her blood in a wave. Though she was alive, now that Regina had magic what could she possibly do?

A viper's grin splayed across the mayor's features as she tucked the gun back into her jacket. "If the curse was broken then Henry lived. Not only that, it seems not only has my sons curse been broken, but magic resorted to me." Flourishing her gloved hand through the air she aimed at the beauty's body.

An invisible hand grappled against Belle's throat in a vice at the simple hand gestures. Fingers clenched about her throat, squeezing with a giants grip. Force unlike she had never known swept her to the back wall of the cell. Her body slammed against the concrete like a bug pinned against a sidewalk. Old dust shifted about her as she grasped at the invisible claw grappled tightly about her neck for dear life. Hands grasping at the invisible claws she tried in vain to alleviate the pressure. Her feet kicked vainly in the air with every second the intangible hand strangled her.

"I could kill you right now." Regina hissed viciously, her fingers twitching spasmodically. "All I'd have to do is twist and squeeze. But I won't."

Waving her hand dismissively, she banished the force.

A sharp cry wrench painfully from her suddenly alleviated throat like an injured birds wail. Her body tensed as she fell down to the cell floor in a quaking heap. Pain flared through her form, turning her body into a conduit for agony. Gasping for breath the beauty staggered to her feet. Her body trembled with the near death at the hands of the witch.

"Consider this an act of clemency, Belle. Or rather a stay of execution." She informed the beauty pleasantly. "But tell Rumpelstiltskin this isn't over."

Smirking, the mayor tramped away leaving a Belle staring in her wake.

Knees trembling, her throat aflame, the beauty sank heavily unto the bed. Looking upwards to the window, she prayed her Rum would come soon and free her from her prison.

The curse was broken, Henry was saved, but magic somehow was back into their lives. What had he done to bring magic to their world, and why did he risk a child's life to do so?

Shaking her head, Belle managed to roll into the cot. Curling up she closed her eyes and tried to quell the errant beating of her heart from her near death.

In the hours that had passed, she knew grimly, there would be a lot of explaining to do.


	16. Back in Business

Utter darkness fell crisply over the newly awakened town of Storybrooke. The velveteen, sable sky sparkled with diamonds enraptured in curious delight to look down on the nightly world below their dark terrace.

Hoary frost formed upon the dead grasses and pebbly gray shoreline like the chilled breath of old man winter himself clinging to the frozen world. The languid waves that vapidly beat against the strands of beach churned with a sloppy mixture of sleet and frost that formed upon the waters back and broke into greenish gray slush. Icy wind wailed a mournful dirge through the barren trees gnarled bones telling that the burden of winter finally found purchase in the air and lay not far behind the fall chill.

Though the darkness exuded the impression of a quiet, sleepy hamlet nestled down for a harsh snowy season ready to befall them, none were granted the grateful repose of slumber. Light glowed brightly through every window and door along the neat, leaf strewn streets. Some doors remained shut and barricaded with frightened citizens holding up in their suddenly strange homes whilst others sat wedge open against the fangs of cold to allow neighbors with restarted memories inside.

Granny's was a place of refuge for those with no family or missing kin to meet or talk to on lost acquaintances through the dead of night. Every chrome stool and booth sat stuffed with tightly bundled up souls laden with fear and wariness and mind all awhirl.

Hot coffee flowed like the thawed streams after a spring flood, providing warmth and alert senses to those with minds bursting with memories long forgotten. Those who managed to salvage a dose of calmness reached out to others as best they could, but so little trying to confront so many was akin to catch every grain of sand on the shoreline.

The town tottered on the towering precipice of panic, only precious inches of sanity away from careering over to lawless hysteria and abject terror.

To Mr. Gold, the chaos was perfection.

Head held high, the astute Mr. Gold, once more the Dark One of legends old limped leisurely down the gray sidewalks partially illumed by street lamps. The darkness about him, not matter how black could not conceal his presence along the streets wherever he strode. He was akin to a freed lion prowling the byways and none could think of capturing him.

A crooked grin tilted upon his lips as he enjoyed the powers so long denied him.

Magic burned through his veins like glorious poison seething in his blood. His body quaked and savored the harsh, addicting flavor of darkness so long at bay with the foul curse. He could have been without magic a thousand years and still with only a faint spark he could recall all tricks he once boasted in his large repertoire of vast prowess.

The few people milling about who did spy him fled like mice before a ravenous cat. A dire pall of abject terror fell upon every face that met his, and every eye that found his own, now glinting with flecks of damson turned away. Anger and fear gripped their hearts, prodding their feet to flee the man that could destroy them all with the flick of the hand.

Taking in a huge breath, the fiend relished the cold, crisp air burning his lungs and the heady sensation of such power and those who rightly feared him. The thrill of discomfort only added to his intoxication of magic once again. Certainly with their memories restored they knew only too well what he was capable of.

Power, he rumbled happily in his mind, there was nothing like the force of being over others.

Now all he had to do was convince his love of that.

Arriving at the ugly police station, the gang lord stared at the paltry edifice of lawfulness that once bound him behind their steel. The bars were paltry moist clay ready to be mashed compared to his power. Nothing and no one could cage him again or even begin to think of such a silly pretext. If anyone ever chained him away again they would only succeed because he allowed them so, and at present, he had no intention of that ever happening again.

Lazily flicking his wrist, he forced the doors open to his invisible command. The heavyset gray steel doors whooshed open as though a burst of air pressed through the very metal. Steel hinges twisted with the force of power making the doors sag along the gray tiled floor. To the Dark One they seemed akin to large guards falling away before his might.

A nearly insane smile twitched upon his lips as he casually walked through.

By heaven above he loved magic!

Striding smugly into the station he donned a wide smile for his Belle. Guilt bit at his tender heart with the thought of her still lying in the wretched cell for longer than he first intended, but now, he thrilled, he could make her displeasure up. Besides, she would forgive him. She always forgave his grievances.

"You used magic." Belle declared lugubriously just as he appeared like a phantom in the station cell room.

Though his steps were light as a cat's shadow on a moonless night, his magic she was once so accustomed to as a slave in the Dark Castle, tickled upon her skin anew, telling the tale of his impromptu arrival.

Curled into a ball, the beauty stared at the gray wall of the cell. Lengthy black shadows engulfed her figure, leaving a scant few portions of her body caught in the moonlight that slanted above through the narrow window way. Her body seemed small, like a delicate porcine pearl upon a gray clam, a thing to be cherished and treasured by the one who first claimed her as his own.

Clearing his throat politely, the fiend adopted a light, nearly joking tone. "Just a bit. I'm a little rusty after 28 years."

"After all magic has done to rip us apart." Her voice caught falteringly as though snatched by the talons of darkness caged over her figure. Her body flinched, hating the sound of her own voice that once brimmed with so much love for him.

Did he not recall how they had been separated? Did he not recall what kept them away from one another's arms in the first place? Did he not recall all that he tossed away for the same power he now wielded again?

Righteous anger flurried through her brave heart at the thought. Magic filled their lives with unending heartbreak and still he brought the dread power forth. Magic was a slave master and he willingly clapped back on his chains!

"Belle." He began, shame skirting his voice. Arching his hand through the air he opened the cell with a spurt of lilac. The door creaked on rusted hinges and swung open at his magical behest leaving noting betwixt them "I thought we talked about this." Limping inside, he loomed over the cot hoping she would invite him into her arms.

She shook her head, her face still turned to the peel wall. "You never said anything about bringing magic back. You told me magic made you a slave, and now I can clearly see that."

"If I had no magic the town would rally and come after me, Belle." He pressed a magic worn hand against his chest. "They would tear me apart and I need magic to find my boy. Don't you understand; can't you see that?"

Magic was the only thing keeping them from finding him and shooting him in the street! His reputation was a barrier, but truly there was no magic such a flimsy blockade would have been as smoke.

She tossed her head, her umber tresses shining with a pale sheen in the silver moonbeams. "There are other ways. There have to be. Magic always comes with a price. You know that better than anyone. I know that better than anyone."

"Any price to help find my son." Rumpelstiltskin pressed adamantly. After a curse, and an intricate web of lives melded together for his purposes, he had come to far to simply abandon his notions and magic's because of what they had wrought.

With a weary sigh Belle rolled over from the cot. Standing eye to eye she faced the Dark One somberly. Pain lashed her face with a frown melding her agony into one look that struck him to the center of his dark heart. "For the price of your magic Regina nearly ended my life."

"What?" His weathered brow crinkled with confusion. Eyes narrowed he searched her, looking for some injury or mistake. Regina was not to have been anywhere near his lovely Belle. She should have been totally focused on Henry.

She nodded sturdily, her lip trembling. "She came here, saying these horrible things. That you stole the cure from Henry. I didn't believe her at first, and truly I strove to think the best of you until the cloud rolled through and brought back magic."

"Belle… I just…." With a faint shake of his head, he turned away from her piercing azure gaze. Disgust with himself barreled over him, plunging him into a world of regretful bleakness. How could her one look make him feel lower than a worm when he was potentially the most powerful man in all the new world?

"You're not a bad man, Rumpelstiltskin." She declared softly in a sigh. "You just make the wrong choices and I don't think I can stay with a man who errs so greatly."

Disbelief swathed his features at her declaration. His blood froze through his veins, grinding his heart to a stop in mid beat. Was she saying…? "Belle, please." The word fell pleadingly from his lips.

"What is everything happens again?" The beauty pressed forward, needing to get the words that lay locked fearfully in her chest. Tears pricked the rim of her cobalt orbs. "What if you pick magic over me again?"

In truth, that was the basis for all their troubles. With magic such a dilemma and terror hung over their heads. What if he chose magic over her once more?

Stubbornly, the fiend shook his head. The very thought seemed anathema. "Never beloved." He assured, his tone cracked pitifully. Was this the end? Had his renewal of magic severed the last link with his Belle?

"I'm wiling to give this another chance." She responded with a sad smile as though reading his thoughts. "But only if you are willing to be the man I know you are."

"Anything for you, Belle." Rumpelstiltskin swore solemnly, his soul ready to swear to anything she decreed.

Shaking her head the beauty turned away from him. Arms wrapping against herself, she padded a few steps away, her form once so warm and inviting sudden stony and aloof. Darkness covered her figure leaving nothing but the back of her in a scant view. Wrapping her arms around herself, she fought the agony of watching him flounder between good and evil. A tear dripped down her face like a silent plea. "You still don't get it. Getting better is not for me, but for you."

"But how…?" He queried voice lost and small in the darkness that enveloped the cell and his soul as well.

She heaved her shoulders in a laconic shrug. "You have to want this, Rumpel. If you don't want to be better then nothing I do will help. I've lost once against your magic before. I can't help but think I will again."

Exasperated he ran a hand through his hair. He needed magic, but he also needed his Belle. How could he live without the other portion of his heart? "I won't give up my magic, but I am willing to come to an accord. When I find my son, I shall forgo this power. All power I will manage to sequester away where none may gather these magic's or find."

Silent, the beauty still looked away from him. Those his words were tempting she wasn't quite convinced. Oh but how she wished to be. How her soul wanted to abandon her common sense and force herself to believe all of what he spoke.

"I will do this." His breath came soft as he padded behind her. Warm breath ghosted against her neck. "Then we can be a family."

Despite her resolve, despite the intelligence in her mind, that temptation was too much to resist.

Turning to face him, her shoulders slumped in belligerent acceptance of his magic. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she stared deeply into his brown orbs. "Just promise me, you won't use any magic for anything other than finding your son or helping others."

"I promise, Belle." He replied whispered devotedly, his timbre hedged with relief. Crushing her tight against himself, he buried his face in the side of her neck. "I promise."

~8~8~

Morn arose somber and bleak upon the awakened town as the tiny shire stirred full to life. The sky was a stone gray, promising snow upon the eve giving more of a worry burdened upon the backs of the already worried townsmen.

None had slept much in the night that changed their very lives though they were false lives indeed. Their fates were too uncertain, to broad to allow even a fraction of the sweet comforts of peaceful rests.

The same questions floated like foul smog through all their troubled minds. What was going to become of them now that the curse was broken? Why weren't the back to their homeland? And what were those who once protected them in the old world going to do to rectify their lives?

In the time of panic, the people instinctually looked to their old kings and queens and knight and nobles. All wished them to have a plan, but none, every soul knew, did.

"Gold." Emma breathed the name like a curse as she stomped into his shop. The bell above jangled crazily with the intrusion, tolling distaste for the deputy. Anger flared in her eyes like a puff of dragon burning breath. "Where's Regina?" She grounded out in a growl.

Huffing, the Dark One rolled his eyes in merriment. A smile pulled at his lips as he put down a metal toy. "Something both of us would like to know Miss Swann." Amusement abruptly died upon his lips. "I would like very much to get my hands on her after the other night."

"Is this before or after you stole the potion to cure Henry." She parried dryly, her mouth a puckered line of hatred.

Not a hint of shame traced his features. "After of course." He replied easily showing no guilt for nearly letting a child die. He knew the curse breaker would rescue Henry, but to others he seemed like a selfish, heartless beast who never even told the curse breaker, after he received the potion, what needed to be done.

What if she had never given Henry a goodbye kiss as he passed? What if they instead buried him in the cold winter ground with but two mourning hearts to weep the passing of the beloved child?

Infuriated, the blonde's lips curled into a snarl. Anger flickered in her eyes like coals, blazing murderously at the gang lord. "I should arrest you right now. You still have crimes to be paid for."

"Oh if only you could Miss Swann." He laughed genuinely for the first time in days. Flourishing his hand in front of her, the Dark One stretched forth his palm. Magic burned in his veins, forming at his behest. Purple flames danced in the center of his hands with only a simple goad of the magic in his blood. The lavender flames, flickering and guttered with an intense liveliness as though real and all too dangerous.

Intrigued, Emma stared enraptured at the sight. Dryness coated her mouth with the display of true magic; something she only thought was true in fairy tales before her.

Pleased with the display, the Dark One curled his hand into a tight fist. Thin trickles of smoke trailed from between his fingers as he cut off the magic.

Placing his hands back on to his cane, he shook his head in pity, his cocky smile never fading. "If only you could apprehend me, Miss Swann. But alas I am not known as the Dark One for mere extravagance."

"Emma?" Belle suddenly entered from the back. Brow beetled in curiosity she stared at the deputy.

Ignoring her, the deputy focused on the fiend. If Mr. Gold was dangerous before he was thousands times as lethal now. "Tell me if you see her." She spat, trying to quell her wariness of his power.

"Will do, Miss Swann." Gold chortled impishly vagrantly displaying his disinterest. Aside from Regina casting the curse and nurturing Henry for years, the witch had served her purpose. There was no more need to host any involvement with her. And after what she had nearly wrought upon her love, the last thing she would receive from him was a warning that the town was looking for her head.

Distrustful, she flickered her cobalt orbs to the beauty for the first time. Her intense eyes glared daggers at the librarian who demolished all trust for her. "The libraries been closed for days now Belle. I and Graham think everyone needs to get on with their regular routine until Regina can be found and we can sort this entire, insane situation out." Her icy eyes melted for a moment. "Having the one thing in the center of town open would make a world of difference."

"I'll think about reopening." Belle nodded reluctantly.

A paper thin smile twitched on Emma's lips. No matter what interest Belle held, she had always liked the quiet, hometown librarian with a titanic secret. "Thanks."

Turning to his love as the deputy left, the gang lord perched an eyebrow curiously. "Are they gathered?"

"Yes." The beauty nodded, her eyes gleaming with misunderstanding. "I still don't know why you called them all."

A wicked grin split his face. "You'll see. I did promise you I'd not use magic for anything other than finding my son. How am I to get income then? The deputy's advice was best you know." He limped steady into the back. One finger up, he looked akin to his old gray-gold self. "Try to run your normal lives."

Pushing the thick door open he was greeted to the sight of the worst in Storybrooke. Red eyed drug dealers, nervous pimps, shifty thieves, and rough thugs, all gathered in he damp, chill alley behind the pawnshop. They were a sea of thick black coats mingling with the refuse of the piled up trash along the slick cobblestone.

Limping out to the back, he stared at those who called him boss. Confusion and fear all traced their faces. Some remembered their good lives before the curse twisted and malformed them into dull, dark shelves of themselves while others remembered theirs pasts not so well and steeped with gore. At any rate, none had a true choice of wriggling out of the Dark One's employ. While they were still in the town they still worked for him.

"Let's not make any grand assumptions that just because magic is back my business stops." He addressed the nervous shady souls clustered in the alley. Pointing the gold tipped end of his cane, he arched the ash wood over the crowd. "You all still work for me and we have business to attend. Any questions will be answered by Belle. Know that I will believe her over anything your filthy mouths can claim if you try to cheat me. Nothing has changed here. You all still work for me."

Silence fell heavily over the crowd, none daring to voice an opinion or interject with a magic powered Mr. Gold at the head.

"Good." Gold smiled widely despite his Belle's disapproving frown. "Then we're back in business."

"You didn't hear?" A brave voice piped up nervously in the stricken crowd. "Regina's got her men set up where we used to be. While you were locked up she got her goons to start running the business'."

The fiend cocked a brow as he ingested the information. Serenity cloaked his features, clandestinely hiding the surprise at the words. Flashing a reassuring smile laced with danger, he chuckled at the crowd. "Then we will be having some fun in the coming days. I suggest you all go back to your homes and await for orders. Things might get messy."

Without goodbye, the fiend turned away and limped back inside. No one else would question his words. With orders given they would hunker down in their homes and trailers with their weapons and wait until he perhaps ordered a move.

"Is this truly necessary, Rum?" Belle queried intently as she trailed behind him back into the shop. Now that there cure was broken did they really have to follow the charade of being gangsters?

A sigh escaped his lips. "You heard what Emma said, we need to follow on with our regular lives." He repeated as though her words were law.

"This was never normal." Belle protested, closing the distance between them.

Abruptly he turned on her. All humor drained from his face transfiguring him back once more into a cunning Dark One, who oft brooded in the confines of his castle. "The curse made me a gangster for a reason, Belle. With the time gone by I have established connections all over the world. Connections that are vital to find my boy if my magic fails."

Slowly nearing her, he canted his head to the left as though trying to get a better look at her soul. An alluring smile formed on his lips, drawing her into his embrace. "And besides we'll need something to do while things are settling down. Don't tell me you didn't enjoy parts of being in the Dark One's. You could have walked away right then out there. You could have told me you wanted nothing to do with this grim business." He pulled her close, his fingers trailing against her slender body. Her anger always drew him in like a moth to the flames and even more so now. "But the truth is you like being a gangster. The truth is Belle, while you see the goodness in others, you crave to court disaster. Skirting infamy and demise excites you. Don't lie. Every time we do business, I see the same look I saw when you made the deal to come work for a monster."

"I don't…." Her breath hitched tightly in her throat as he claimed the creamy flesh of her graceful neck. Kisses sprinkled her milky skin. His breath was blisteringly hot on her neck like a firebrand claiming her as his once again.

How could he turn her against her thoughts so fast? She pondered with what little part of her was not lost to the sensation of him. Closing her eyes, she slipped into her dark embrace and coveted his warmth against her.

Dotting her thunderous pulse with kisses, he whispered huskily. "Prove it to me then. Prove that this life doesn't excite you; that Mr. Gold never excited you."

And truly, she could not.


	17. Losing to Darkness

_A/N: I don't normally put anything up on Sunday's but with a speech and two papers due in the coming week, I don't know when I can make time. Anyway, enjoy!_

**~8~8~**

A single, hot light bulb hanging on rusted wires and bereft of any shade swung steadily over the sensual figure of the ousted Madame Mayor. The singular globule of yellow brightness provided a small ball of light in the stone sarcophagus sea of absolute swarming darkness. Entranced moths plinked mindlessness against the heated glass, heedless of the damage they did to themselves for their love of warmth and light.

Pacing under the bright yellow bulb, Regina could not help but feel the same way as the foolish moths crashing their skulls to their doom. Head perched down like some horrid, twisted nun lost in prayer, the sorceress palmed the black phone in her grip. Her painted fingers slid against the silver lined edges as though admiring the phone like an expensive bibelot. The hand held device was not a potion or anything of enchantment to bend to her will, but in turn touted a promise of something so much more precious than her magic could allot.

Her magic worn fingers glided effortlessly over the blank black plastic almost with a tender touch. Indecision marred her features, transforming her pallid visage into an ashen pall wrought of a torn heart.

Could she? Did she dare?

Muttering a low curse at her weakness, the harpy tapped a few digits on the phone. Her heart skipped a beat with each fuzzy ring over the line. Her safe bunker could barely carry a signal over the mausoleum cracked stone, but there was just enough strength to sue for a fragile connection to the place where her heart lay.

"Hello…?" A small young voice crackled tentatively over the speaker.

Love burst upon the evil queen's visage with the sound of her precious boy. Relief flooded into a tender smile formed upon her ruby lips. "Henry." His name came out like a blessing to the end of her prayers.

"Mom?" Confusion, eagerness, and suspicion all laced his faltering boyish tone. "Mom where are you?"

Her glossy ruby lips trembled and twitched with a watery smile. Tears welled in her brown eyes, but she refused to let her heartache fall from her orbs. The concern in his childish timber was more powerful than any magic could ever invoke. His wariness for her was enough to know he still did care for her.

Forcing her voice in her regular timbre, she addressed him almost normally. "Mother is hiding right now, Sweetie. Dangerous, terrible people are looking for me. I just wanted to call to say I love you and see how you were doing and if you were recovering."

Regret still burned like a comet through her heart with the decision to kill the Dark One's beloved rather than spend her final moments with her son. Vengeance had coated and hazed her eyes in misty red fury and blinded to her what was truly important in her life.

"I… I'm doing alright." He replied in a clandestine whisper. Regina could almost picture him tucked away in a corner with the phone, a hand over the speaker, his bright eyes looking about for anyone who would notice him. "Emma is really great and so are my grandparents."

Scalding tears burned down Regina's pale cheeks like a river of fire against ivory banks. Swallowing down the lump of agony and sorrow lodged tightly in her throat just as she had learned in the regal halls of places and castles long ago, she forced her voice into a courtly cheerfulness to hide her misery. "That's wonderful Henry. I'm sure you're having a great time."

"When can I see you again, Mom?" His voice dripped with an anticipation that carved a hunk of her bleeding heart away with his expectant tone.

Closing her eyes, she couldn't contain the catch in her throat. His inquiry was too heavy a burden for her heart. "Not for a long time, Sweetie. Not until I know I can be safe with you again."

"Hey kid, I got take out from Granny's." Another voice crackled over the line. "Henry, who's on the phone?" Emma inquired suspiciously from the background. Boots thudded closer to the line, drawing the abysmally short, cherished conversation to a finale.

"Remember that I love you, Henry." Regina clutched the phone with both hands, her mind imagining the cold plastic was the small hand of her adopted child.

Rustling static shivered over the phone. "Mom." The boy's voice sounded on the keen verge of tears.

Without waiting to hear her son's response the sorceress punched the off key. Whilst her son still loved her, he also was not ignorant of her doings and her hand in the curse. He wouldn't withhold the phone from his birth mother, nor deny to whom he spoke.

Miss Swann, she knew implicitly, would soon enough figure out who was the caller to Henry's emergency phone was and maybe even track the cell down with the right equipment if the station had any.

Dark fire, like blots of ink from a burst pen tinged the hidden sorceress fingertips at her grieving behest. Black tongues of fire flared and hissed from her hand, hungry for destruction long denied her latent magic. Eagerly, the bickering flames raced over the phone in her hand melted the cell caught in her grip.

Lugubrious satisfaction pulled her lips into a despondent frown as the fire demolished the plastic and buttons into a gooey messy puddle. Acrid smoke filled the air in tiny gray wisps that pawed at the stone walls and flaking ceiling. Gummy medallions of ebony liquid plastic formed at her feet, hissing with the dampness of cold stone clashing with the heat of melted goo.

In her mind, she imaged the melting mess as the deputy, the curse breaker, the one that severed her happiness asunder from her boy. Desire burned and boiled in her bile filled soul to melt the blonde's courageous heart just as the plastic.

Curling her hand over the waxy liquid, she cursed the name of Emma Swann. Black liquid bubbled and oozed from betwixt the cracks in her fingers just as she would have liked to see the deputy's blood spill. How she wished to feel the crimson ichor evaporating into red smoke and the stench of burning flesh as she crushed the hallow shell in her fire scarred hands.

One could dream.

Dropping the largest hunk of the oily glob on the ground, the witch frowned. Sadly, the thought was only a dream born of a hate-filled heart. Henry would hate her forever if she ever succeeded in getting rid of Emma Swann. As much as she hated the curse breaker and all her line, the annoyance was there to stay.

"Hard to be away from the one you love, isn't it, _majesty_?" The Dark One asked hypothetically from the shadows, his voice a smooth hiss like a scaled serpent in whose flesh he was once clad.

Swiveling around as though possessed, the cunning witch stared at the adumbrated intruder in abject surprise. Only the purple flecks in his eyes revealed his presence in the shadow. No one was to have known of her bunker, her secret hideout in case anything went awry in her dominion. But then again, she soothed herself, he was Rumpelstiltskin. Nothing was hidden from his tactile eyes and ancient mind. He was akin to a bloodhound, knowing every hideaway and cranny someone could stash themselves.

Goading magic to her hand, the witch conjured an orb of blackest fire to her palm. The bleak darkness gleamed over her pale skin making her seem akin to a corpse newly come to life.

Snorting derisively at the show of such paltry power against his own, the fiend lingered in the shadows as a prowling demon amused by a simple show of defiance by his doomed target. "Magic? Don't insult me, Dearie." Waving his hand languidly into the light, a zephyr of magic laden air gusted through the room at his command. Promptly, as though doused, the orb of dark fire in her hand sputtered like a candle flame against the wind and winked out in her grip.

Smiling dangerously in the darkness, the Dark One reveled in her surprise. "We both know even with out limited powers here, I'm much stronger than you." He chuckled darkly.

In an instant, shock melted from her skin giving way to a cool smirk. "Rumpel." His name came out in an oozing, pleasantly, placid smile. "How did you manage to find me old friend?"

"You weren't that hard to track. I located you a week ago. But you weren't going anywhere." The fiend limped under the harsh, singular bulb. Light glinted off the gold on his cane hilt as he fully revealed himself in the hidden place Regina had sequestered herself. "There aren't many places you could have gone. The townsmen would have hanged you by now." He pointed out with a careless shrug.

Not looking at her, he stared at the walls as though sizing up an old apartment room. The safe house wasn't much. The entire bunker consisted of one room with a thin cot with a gray blanket, supplies to last for months, and beside all that a modern hand held radio and batteries sitting on a leaning shelf. A picture of her and Henry on his first day in first grade sat nailed up on a wire thought he cement walls. All together the place was akin to a tomb in the midst of the forest, only with the odd residence of a living soul bound to the earthly resting place.

Part of him found the situation ironic. Once she had forced her hated rival Snow White to live outlawed in the woods, and now she sat hidden under the pines and firs and sleeping trees away from those who wished to spill her blood.

Clasping her hands together the witch leaned with a nearly feigned carelessness against the wall and canted her head to the left. A ruby crescent sliced her lips in a taunting smile. "Did your little slave girl help track me down like she did that fire monster? She always did have a way of doing the impossible; like surviving years in the southlands or falling in love with a beast."

A thin grin laced with malice perked upon his lips in reply. Murder gleamed like polished amethyst in his eyes as he stared at the loathed witch. Sighing, he limped closer like a prowling cat done toying with a weary, cornered mouse. "Always so defiant and sharp tongued to the last. I'll admit, you were quite useful for a time, Regina. You served my illustrious purposes quite nicely in the grand scheme of things." Hefting the shaft of his cane, he ghosted the hawk nosed handled against her pallid cheek. "By far you were the best puppet I ever made dance to my tune. My own little marionette, strung from the first day your wicked mother bore you to the world."

Slapping the cane away, the sorceress glared murderously at the fiend, her narrowed brown eyes sparkling with glowing embers of hatred. "What have you come for, Rumpelstiltskin? Revenge or to gloat. Maybe you plan to drag me back to town so that the people can rip me to bloody rags and hang me up just as you say?"

"No, no, Dearie." He huffed in amusement, his mouth cocked into half a crooked grin of utter maliciousness. "I wouldn't let them have the satisfaction."

Abruptly, the fiend spurred magic to his will. Clawed darkness spewed from his hand aimed at the sorceress. Razor-sharp purple talons gripped her delicately pulsing throat, effectively pinning her to the coarse stone wall. Moisture and mold that ran down the striated cracks seeped into her pinstripe suit. The cold radiated through her body, making her bones quake with freeze. With every ounce of force she could feel the very core of her body with a teeth grating ache.

Eyes bulging wide, the sorceress could barely let a full breath steal past her clenched throat. The Dark One knew what he was doing, leaving only the faintest bit of air allowed through her burning throat and letting her imagine her slow death by his hand.

All humor drained from his skin, the fiend stared at her like a rabid lion with a broken prey before him. "You took her away from me." He hissed accusingly and mentally prompted the claws to tighten around her vulnerable throat. A grunt of pain fell involuntarily from Regina's clenched mouth at the motion. "You banished her to a place where she had no one. Then you came to my palace and lied of her death. You produced a pain no healing can ever mend and you think I would let the townsmen have the barbarous satisfaction of ripping you limb from limb?"

Her face was the paleness of the light snow encrusted upon the ground. Blue faintly dappled her cheeks and her eyes began to mist over as glassy marbles. With every lethargic blink her world became a morass she could nary fight against. The Dark One before her became a smeared pallet of blue of black and gold and a maze of indiscernible figures.

"Perhaps when you had outlived your uses I would have simply let you live with the knowledge you were a simple pawn in a grand game, but you tampered with what was mine." He rumbled deep in his throat just as she lost consciousness. Calling his magic in retreat, he let her fall to the floor in a pallid heap. Staring down he bit out. "And I never let anyone take what is mine."

Smiling grimly, the fiend stared down at the sorceress' limp body. In a moment he could have ended her, cleanly, painlessly if he so desired. But she needed to suffer and suffer at the hands of those she had made miserable. Bit by agonizing bit she would rue the day her plots involved his love and tampered with his heart like a broken child's plaything.

Slowly waving his hand over the crumpled figure, the fiend watched in satisfaction of his magic at work. Angry clouds of purple bubbled over her flesh and she disappeared in a spurt of lilac magic to await the Dark One's convenience.

~8~8~

Dust painted the air in light gray clouds as Belle cleaned off the last shelf in the reopened library. Golden trails of light speared though the washed windows making the dust motes dance through the air in one last hint of grandeur before falling away to be swept up and forgotten.

How could only a week have passed and the library was already retaken by the armies of dust, Belle pondered in a soft sneeze. She had only been away for about a week and a few days, helping her Rum get things in order and helping him prepare for his journey to the outside world to seek his lost son.

The days had flown by hectically in a veritable whirlwind of people coming and going to his shop and those others like Mary Margaret now in control trying to calm the people who now saw the plight stretched out before them as a morbid puzzle finally solved, but showing nothing grand in their tumultuous future.

Not a day went by someone did not intrude into the Dark One's lair and demanded something of him. In days, they had not spent a whole two hours to themselves with his never ending preparations to leave into the outside world and others bothering their precious quiet moments.

She missed the days before the shattered curse, when they could talk for hours of anything over wads of money or just in the front of his shop like old friends. In those days not long ago no one rarely dared come to his shop. Now, they barely had time to steal a kiss before someone else came clamoring to him with their outrage and plights.

Yes, the week had been an all too busy one, but she could feel the town dying down to a banked panic rather than a blazing inferno. Being back at the library proved that to a small degree. Soon, though things were never to be the same, they would get back into their flow of living their Storybrooke personas.

Rubbing her twitching nose, irritated by the newly formed layers of dust, with the back of her hand, the beauty smiled contentedly. Though things were hectic, life was moving along their streams with but little rapids to impede them. After magic returned she was dubious her Rum would keep his oath and fully expected his mischief about the town like a newly conjured plague. Magic was a tempting mistress luring those to her that were far too weak to resist her ineffable charms, and Rumpel, she knew sadly, was not one to resist the darkness' cajoling words.

But, he was doing well, very well. Not only was he scarcely using magic but his business was getting better. More and more a lenient side was showing that gave a few breathing room. He no longer asked her to do things she found in too high distaste and some things he ground to a halt altogether to prove his progress. Hard as the work was for him the Dark One was making an effort not to lose the humanity that barely went behind his human skinned body.

With his growing, she wished to do something special for him; to show she was there to encourage him and that she was proud of his progress. Part of her wanted to dote upon him and speak the indecipherable words of love to his yearning heart. She wished to banish any who wished to bother them to the furthest corners of the world and take a stroll down a snowy lane hand in hand with her love and look at the little sculptures gleeful children constructed in their yards.

In all she wanted to be alone with him and she wanted their time to be something special.

Dinner, the beauty's mind drew the answer to the conundrum instantly, she would make him a dinner just as he had done to repay her for caring for him. After an entire week of barely any privacy a nice supper would be just the ticket.

Digging into a pocket on her gray checkered dress, the beauty broth forth a key chain always kept close on hand. A few keys to her house, the library, and his home was all that lay in her hand, but they would serve her purpose. After their revelation into who they really were, he gave her access to his house just in case they ran afoul of emergencies. He had nothing to hide from her, he claimed once, and he meant to prove such.

She hadn't used the silver key yet, but wouldn't he be surprised to walk home and discover an entire meal alone without anyone to bother them. No one had dared approach his home yet, and she hoped that luck would last one more night.

Yes, Belle determined proudly to herself, a dinner would be fine indeed. Placing the last book on the clean shelf, she smiled happily at the pleasing thought. Once the sweeping was done and the library closed for the day, perhaps even early, she would get right to work preparing a scrumptious delight!

~8~8~

"There." Belle wiped her hands together in satisfaction. Staring at the neatly straightened kitchen, she allowed herself the heady feeling of pride to probe into her heart. The last of the meal was finally finished.

Armed with a cookbook borrowed from the library, and a market filled with fresh foods, the beauty created a simple but mouthwatering meal. Lamb neatly cooked with root vegetables in its own juices sat warming in the oven to be taken out when he arrived along with a cheesecake she had made cooling in his nearly empty fridge.

Along with everything, she had stuffed away a night bag in an inconspicuous place in his some. With any hope, she looked forward to spending the night with him and perhaps more if their mood was changed. They hadn't taken that larger step, but with his progress, she was more than willing to move their relationship as well, but that was still a rare thing.

Still, the most important facet of the night was dinner.

The table was set with simple white china with a blue ring and tall, unlit candles ready to set the mood. She set the table in the kitchen and not the grand dining room, giving their meal a flare of nostalgia from their loves of old. Often in the Dark Castle, her incorrigible master ended up eating privately in the massive kitchen with her when she went to her own meals after she served him his plates in the great hall.

In the stone larder with the cook fire low in the arched hearth, they allowed themselves at ease with one another at the homely table away from grandeur of his trinkets to remind him of his power. His quips were more tamed at the rough table and he was always seemed more human taking his meals with his servant than alone in the great hall.

She hadn't seen it then, but now she knew he was lonely in his heart. He craved company and found a willing companion in his slave who always welcomed his presence at the kitchen table and laughed at his jokes through bites of her novice cooking.

That was the kind of atmosphere the beauty wished to find in his manse in Storybrooke, and, instinctively, she knew she had.

Finding things in his home hadn't been difficult to locate, all expect wine. She wanted a good bottle to top off her meal and the book claimed a nice red would go well. She knew he had a fair store of wine somewhere in his home, but in the interim of setting the table just so and cooking, she had yet to discover where he kept his wine. Now with everything done she could devout all her time to finding his store.

"If I had a cache of expensive wine where would I store it?" The brave beauty pondered aloud to herself. Tapping a finger to the side of her jaw, she ambled leisurely about the kitchen in lost thought. Though his manse was a sprawling complex his kitchen was relatively small. She had found nothing in the way of a wine box.

Snapping her fingers she smiled with sudden epiphany. "Basement."

There was a basement, she knew very well. Small windows that hedged the bottom of the walls on the outside told of the other room. The bush roots surrounding the house hid them from afar but they were noticeable up close.

Finding the door to the basement wasn't a difficult venture. His home was akin to a smaller scaled Dark Castle, leaving her with not a hint of doubt where things were. If the house was based anything on the Dark Castle, the door leading to what once were dungeons was the third to the left of the front door.

Opening the door slowly, she looked down into a pitch black chasm. Much like the stairs leading to the dungeons, the darkness filled her with an ominous fog that breezed through her slender form. The wooden stairs descended down into a bleak, strange abyss, one that inspired the beauty with trepidation. This was Mr. Gold's house after all and she had not been in the Dark Castle for the years.

Bravely, the beauty dove into the blackness, a courageous bullet through the folds of onyx. Traipsing down the creaky wooden steps to the bottom of the dark basement, the beauty struggled through the thick blackness. The darkness was a heavy cowl pulled down tightly to cloak the room. Hands outstretched she stumbled through the bleakness as any lost in a labyrinth would. Where in heavens name was the switch?

The light falling insipidly from the top of the stairs gave a little help, but not enough to point her in the direction of finding the light at the bottom.

Just as despair for ever locating the proper button entered her heart, he fingers curled over a light switch. Happily flicking the switch, the beauty squinted her eyes as the light bloomed before her. His basement looked like any other found in a home. Dusty boxes of junk sat in the corners and the floor was but cold cement unadorned, but unlike other basements a door to another room stood before her.

A chain and a simple lock hung over the door but nothing else to show a hazard.

Jackpot, Belle celebrated in her mind.

There, certainly was his precious wine housed under lock and key from any foolish thieves. And with his expensive taste, there was no surprise he kept them so chained from tempting tongues and drunken heads.

"Not to difficult." Belle knelt at the iron lock, her hands lifting the heavy barrier to inspect it. Working for Mr. Gold had given way to learning skills such as lock picking and her old tricks from her time in the southlands barreled through her mind as well to aid with the lock.

Taking a thin piece of metal from a nearby metal wire hanger, the beauty fiddled with the lock. Her pink tongue poked out of the edge of her mouth as she focused on her task. In few moments the lock clicked open, showing testament to her skills.

Victorious, Belle yanked the chain from the handle. Holding the thick steel cords she pushed open the door.

Hinges creaked almost in warning as Belle opened the door to what she thought was the wine cellar. With light flooding in from the main part of the basement, she knew she was oh so wrong. The chain in her grip dropped limply to the floor like a dead snake as she stared at what horror lay before her.

Bruised and battered, wrists and ankle in a vice with rough hewn rope like some prized hog, Regina flinched at the light and the woman before her. Laying on her side, prone from moving with the tight ropes biting into her body at every motion, she looked akin to a beaten sack. Vomit gummed her hair and pooled under her head and blood speckled the floor.

Barely arching her head up, she stared upwards. Crusted blood sat in dry streams at the edges of her tightly bound mouth as the rope the dug cruelly into the sides of her cheeks.

Terror danced in her misty eyes as she stared at the woman who once stood at her mercy.

Staring back, Belle forced herself not to scream at the pitiful sight.

What had her love done?


	18. You Had Her

_Meet me at your house. I have a surprise._

Gold smiled widely as the delicate, lithe words tossed freely about his ancient mind. Those words had been spoken by his Belle not an hour before, and ever since he was unable to think of anything of importance. The tender proclamation swirled about his head like a shaken snow globe with no looks of settling. Her words, so sensuous, just bordering on the wondrous precipice of mischievous hummed pleasantly through his thoughts with every limping step. She had a surprise for _him_.

The sky above the Dark One was a smear of cold ash swathed thickly over the sprawling firmament. Heavy snow lingered piously above the creamy gray flotillas of clouds and threatened to fall over the land covering the light crust sprinkled already over the brown earth and rare tufts of dark green grass.

Daring a glance up at the threatening sky, the fiend prayed inwardly the snow would not begin till he reached home. The longer the progress to his home, the less time he would have with his lovely Belle, and that could not be allowed.

Cane tapping a steady rhythm upon the snow cleaned sidewalk, Rumpelstiltskin forced himself to a slow pace instead of racing home as all his body screamed to achieve. His malformed, twisted leg ached with each heavy step in the dreaded cold, but he dared not risk the spearing pain he was apt to gain in the winter with haste, to spoil his coming evening with his Belle.

The last thing he wanted was to smile to veil his abject agony, to kneed his own leg instead of hers to assuage his ailing. Besides, she would know he was in pain no matter how stoically he disguised his discomfort and end up wanting to care for him rather than enjoy an evening filled with tempting kisses and whispers of love.

Icy cold whipped about him like outspread claws ripping through the thick over coat as though the heavy wool was sheer muslin draped thinly over his figure. Black tassels upon his thick scarf fluttered through the gnashing wind like a war pennant in a gale.

Pausing to catch his burning breath, the Dark One pulled down his dark scarf and sniffed the air like a hunting dog. Breath billowed from his barely open lips in silver streams taking by the galloping wind. There was something along the nip in the air, he knew pointedly, something dangerous, but just what?

Surely whatever was along the air, he figured casually as he pulled up his scarf, there could be nothing of much importance. Strange things were always happening in Storybrooke now a days with the curses fetters shattered from the minds of the people and magic coaxed back to the world.

Fingers clasped tightly over his jacket, the bundled fiend plodded painfully up the steps to his home. His fingers felt clumsy inside the gray wool knit gloves as he fumbled for the door. He need not have a key for the portal already sat open, and even if it did not, a small spurt of magic, Belle would probably never even notice, would open the lock without leaving him to the mercy of the wind a second longer.

Slowly pushing open the door, the fiend stamped inside to relive his limbs of chill. Doting servants of warmth rushed over him, heaping his body with their heat and chasing the curs of thaw out from his bones.

Inside, his home was dark from the fast fading dusk. The open curtains barely allotted the gray light, leaving all in a shadowed dimness.

Unwrapping the thick scarf from his neck, the Dark One placed the cloth on a tall wooden hat rack behind his door. What was his Belle up to, leaving the house so dark and gloomy?

"Hello?" He called out as he hung his thick, black coat on a peg. "Belle?"

Curious, the fiend limped quietly through his home. His head peeked through every doorway, searching for his lovely Belle. She was there, he could feel her aura pulsing nearby, but just where?

Clattering through the dimness, abruptly, his eyes caught a spear of brightness through the gloom. Light slanted from under the kitchen door, creating a path of golden radiance to take him to his love.

Padding quickly to the kitchen, he gently eased open the door. Slightly pushing, every move was a shadows action. His feet landed softly against the wood, his cane nary marking a tap. The last thing he wanted to do was surprise his Belle, but he was dying to see what awaited him.

A smile tilted his lips at the sight spread before him. The table was set for two just as in the Dark Castle. Nostalgia uncoiled in his mind leading him down a stairwell of memories. Instantly his mind retreated to those shy, happy days with his Belle along in the corridors and large unused rooms in the Dark Castle.

Their time felt so brief even though she lived in the castle for little over a year. He looked back, savoring every moment like a drop of golden ambrosia titillating upon his tongue. Oh but she was so sweet, her smile, her laugh, like the finest wine and he had enjoyed her from afar.

Striding fully into the quaint kitchen he smiled widely into the nothingness. "Belle?" He looked about the kitchen, trying to spy her out.

A slight scuffle came from his left next to a swinging door. In an instant the beauty stood inside. She seemed almost as a ghost who appeared at will inside some abandoned mansion.

"Belle." The fiend spoke her name joyously. He motioned a hand to the table happily, his features aglow with love. "Belle this is…."

"You beast!" Belle set upon him at once cutting his words off. The flat of her hand rose up and before the Dark One could react she made contact.

The slap clapped harshly into the warm air like the noise of something breaking. Her hand stung at the ferocious gesture, leaving an imprint of her fingers on the cheek she once kissed.

Angered beyond reason, she glared at him, her eyes glowering pools of iridescent flames. "How dare you. You've tortured her!"

After seeing the mayor lying helpless and afraid, the beauty had freed her from her bonds. She had not been afraid of repercussion, for what could be worse than what her Rum had done?

Untying her, Belle made certain she was not in any debilitating harm. Magic, she knew, could do many things physical force could not. Shocked, the wounded mayor had vanished in a cloud of dark red magic, with not even a word of thank you. But to Belle that hadn't mattered, what mattered was he Rum and what he had done.

A firebrand glowed red hot remnants of embers upon his flesh. His cheek stung heatedly and pulsed with rising blood against his cold skin. Prickly tingles raced through his assaulted flesh adding but a slight buzz to the pain. Rubbing his cheek in disbelief, the fiend stared in shock. What was she…?

Oh.

The problem rushed to him with the force of a gale. She had discovered his prisoner.

Girding himself with darkness, the fiend frowned angrily at his love. Had anyone else dared lay a hand on him they would be dead at his feet, but never his Belle.

"Regina has nothing to do with you, Belle." Rumpelstiltskin replied calmly, his voice tinged with ice.

Her eyes hardened into dull steel. "No? Rumpelstiltskin you can't just go about taking justice and vengeance into your own hand! She's done ill to everyone in this town not just you or me."

"She banished what was mine. She put hands on what was mine!" He snarled justification through clenched teeth, his voice desperate to make her understand.

The beauty tossed her head. "That gives you no right. I saw her down there. I can't imagine what you've done to her and all under my nose. How long has she been down there? Have you had her all along, torturing her while the entire town is looking for her?"

"Only a few days." Rumpelstiltskin admitted gruffly. Turning his back to her, he limped to the dressed table. His skinny fingers brushed against the white edge of the linen over the dark mahogany table. "What does it matter?" He inquired lowly, his voice sullenly firm. "After all she's done to everyone, you don't think this is what she deserves?"

"No." Belle stepped after him. "No one deserves to be tortured. Not even Regina." Her fingers gripped around the crook of his elbow. "I thought you were learning. I thought you were getting better. You lied to me; I saw those wounds, you tortured her with fires of magic."

There was not one mark she did not deserve, he justified in his mind. Every score upon her flesh, endowed by his magical prowess was an ill done to him. She deserved torture a thousand times over. Could his love not see that?

The Dark One huffed. "She is a loathsome woman who no one would miss. Even you must know she has to die for all that she's done. Why should it not be the executioner. Belle, see reason."

"See reason in torture!" Spouts of flame all but billowed from her flaring nostrils. Hands curled into fist, she restrained herself from striking him again in a flash of fury. How dare he ask her to see reason on such a deplorable act!

"On Regina!" Roared the beast in reply. "She isn't a saint or some innocent pawn in this elaborate game."

Furious she ground out words one by one. "Torture. Is. Wrong. You aren't above the rules."

"I am the Dark One I may do whatever I wish!" Rumpelstiltskin boomed. Taking his cane he crashed the golden handle across the table.

Fine porcelain erupted in every direction in the face of his blistering wrath. Thin goblets cracked and gysered into spouts of glass and water mingled as one. Brittle cutlery dented and leapt from the table at his rage. The once special table became littered with shards and fangs of white from the fine china. Water sopped the linens and dripped down as blood from a torn heart. Both silver candles sticks in the center toppled with his pernicious force. Fallen, the yellow candles broke along the edge of the table revealing their red wicks beneath hides of daffodil. Split, they dangled at the edge of the table, swinging helplessly in his wrath.

Breathing hard, the Dark One stared callously at his destructive work. His cane dangled numbly on the edge of his fingertips as he stared at his force. Who was she to tell him what he could or could not do this… this… _mortal _who enraptured his heart. Who was she to tell him he could not use his magic's or deal the justice he saw fit?

Lung bellowing, he spoke through partly open lips. "Whatever I wish, I may do. I am the Dark One. Nothing is barred from me. I can have whatever I want."

"Not everything." Her low voice grew somber like ice over a marbled grave. "We're through."

Her words, so terse, were as water sluiced over his blazing wrath. In an instant his anger flickered out leaving only small wisps of smoke to his fury. "Belle…." He looked to her pleadingly, his face a sculpture of chastisement and want of forgiveness. "I lost my temper I'm sorry."

Sorrowfully, the beauty tossed her dark amber mane. Agony marbled her features, telling of hurt deep in her heart. "Not this time. I can forgive most things, but this.… I had no choice but to be beside you in the Dark Castle, when you did such an abhorrent act and even afterwards, I was right about you. You are a good man. But you just can't show it, and I can't stay with a man unwilling to change. I'm not your prisoner; I'm not your slave. This time I can leave."

Was she serious? Blood raced through his throbbing heart banging as a war drum in his chest with her words of goodbye. After all they had done, the mourning, the weeping, the nightmares, the trials they had scaled to be together?

"Look, Belle, I know I've made some bad choices." He muttered pathetically, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully.

Her eyes looked away from him. "Not this time, Rum. A sorry wont patch this up."

"You can't leave me, you love me." He rasped out like an accusation, a desperate croak from a still desperate man. He placed a hand on his heaving chest. "You love me."

"I do love you. I love you with all my heart. But I can't stay with a man who lets his beast get the better of him." The beauty replied as she slowly slid away from the monster. Gliding away, she was the mist of a dream that could have been fading from a man not ready to see her depart.

Turning to her vapidly, his eyes glowed softly, begging for her understanding. "Belle."

"You keep saying my name as though that makes a difference." She clutched her arms around herself as though protecting her heart from the cold.

His voice tempered softly. "Once upon a time it did."

"That was before Rum." She choked the tears down welling in her eyes. Heat bubbled in her forging a lump of iron in her throat. Why did even an angry goodbye leave her feeling hollow for him. How could she love a monster so much that even departing was a wound no poultice could mend?

Confusion tore upon his human flesh. "Before what?"

"Before when I saw the man more than the monster." Belle replied candidly, gathering the last of her strength.

Creeping close to her, he outstretched a hand that was once a scaled claw. Wiry finger clasped light about her shoulder.

Instantly, Belle jerked herself away, unwilling to let him gain purchase in her heart again.

Pain cracked against his face, turning has heart into lost darkness. "What's happening to us Belle?"

"What's happening to you?" Ice like a pointed lance, crackled on her timbre and aimed to his heart.

He stiffened again as though she had slapped him once more. Back strait as an arrow and muscles taunt along his skin, he glared icily behind her back. In all his years he had not changed. "I am what I am." He replied simply.

"That's all you're think you can be." A mirthless chuckle fell insipidly from her lips. "I saw more in you Rumpelstiltskin. You're just afraid of being more than the cruel deal maker, but I know in my heart you can be that man I see."

"Maybe I can." He shrugged helplessly.

Turning to him, she shook her head slowly. Her eyes were dry of tears now only filled with pity. "Prove it. The time for talking is done, Rumpelstiltskin. I'm tired of your empty promises. Prove to me the man I love and see when no one else can is more than a shade of a man long lost to darkness."

Words still ringing dryly in the air, the beauty slowly vacated the home. Slipping past him like an ethereal spirit, she disappeared from his presence.

"Belle." The fiend called out to her, his tone pleading her to come back.

Softer and softer her footsteps faded. Rigid he listened to her steps drift from the hall and then to the stoop.

"Belle." Cursing himself the Dark One limped after her.

Reaching the front door, he watched her walking from his pink manse. In the dull iron twilight, she seemed as a gray phantasm, devoid of all fleshy pallor prowling the trail to his home. Coat pulled tightly around her body she plodded step by step away from her love.

Fat flakes of downy snow swirled to the barren land as she left him all alone. The skies, pregnant with snow let forth their full burden into a soft, chilled flurry. Soon, before his eyes, the fronds of alabaster blinded him from her body. Through the snow he could but make out little portions of her but no more with the hoary gusts.

Part of him wished to call her back to the warmth of his home, but she wouldn't, he knew sadly.

Turning dejectedly from the door, the Dark One slammed the thick portal shut. Limping back into the kitchen, his mind clawed out the thoughts and words that made him who he was. She thought he could change, but didn't she see he could not. He was bound to his darkness just as any man chained heart and soul to an enchantment.

Alone, with only broken china about him, the Dark One stared into nothingness. Everything seemed lost to him with her gone from his home. The chipped and shattered porcelain on the table reminded him of the night he thought her a betrayer. In his pernicious rage he had let loose his power and grief for having lost something so precious.

Was there any different now?

"You had her." He sunk disbelievingly to the chair at the ruined table. Hot tears pricked his umber eyes. Hands clasped to the either side of his head he felt the tears roll down his weathered cheeks. Sobs erupted from his mouth in an abrupt torrent of pain. His body shook with palsy of a broke heart as he let the cruel darkness cowl him with ice claws of leering and regret.

"You had her! You stupid beast, you cowardly monster!" He gasped mournfully through his ragged sobs. "You had her… and lost her again…."

**~8~8~**

_A/N: Unfortunately, I am experiencing mild story burn-out :(. While I try to keep steady updates, I don't think they will be as common. _


	19. All Lost

For Rumpelstiltskin, the word did not move. Bleakness scaled over the eyes of the lonesome Dark One, casting all in somber shade of nothingness. Disparity crashed against the rocky islets of his heart leaving noting but the icy streams of pain. Like the hoary fat flakes fallen from the sky, all the world seemed gray and desolate and blank to him. Belle, his Belle, was lost to him because he could not control his darkness, his gluttony for power.

Crestfallen, the fiend lumber through the days she was absent as a dead thing, bereft of a soul and brought back to life by some necromantic hand. His mind and heart felt sundered from his body, taken by Belle's crushing departure from his manse. Numb, his limbs worked only by sinewy puppet strings pulled by deeply instilled hands of instincts that rolled him out of bed in the morning, forced a spoonful of tasteless cereal down his dry throat, and walked him to his dim, lonely shop.

Though he got up every morning, and planned to find his boy, there was no true heart in the venture. He was a machine working on programs long before encoded and tattooed upon his tactile mind. Every hour, he seemed akin to a beast of burden, plodding along and working simply because of a nature ingrained in him. Had the world all turned to ash he would have continued upon his mindless routine till even he became one with the cold bareness dead upon his quest.

There was no zealously or passion, there was only hallow emptiness and cruelly gleeful darkness bereft of the tiniest hint of light in his black soul. There was no Belle and therefore no life. She was his heart and now he had none, she was his breath and now there seemed only an ache spurring his lungs to ease and contract and pull in winter's cold wind.

She was everything, and without her he was nothing.

"Rumpelstiltskin." Grumpy growled the infamous name as he stomped into the once forbidden lair of the gang lord's pawn shop.

The bronze bell, varnished with aging green tint, jangled riotously with the intrusion of the burly, disgruntled dwarf. Before the door was halfway closed, the bell signaled another entry, and another and another, till the bell seemed nearly to fly off the small rusted hook above the glass portal.

Six more of his stocky ilk clustered through the door, their clothes sweaty as though they had run down to his shop from the woods. Keeping tightly together the dwarves entered as though traipsing through a dragons lair. Alarm swelled in their brave, stout hearts and glassed their eyes with perilous dread that glimmered in the dusty dimness of the Dark One's shop.

Staring forlornly at a new map in a ledger book and two plane tickets nestled in a folder pocket, the fiend frowned duplicitously at their entrance. Even without looking up he knew who intruded upon his domain. Dwarves always had a peculiar scent of stone and dust and sweat. They were of Snow Whites honorable band, always trying to set things strait or keep him from doing his abruptly stopped deal makings upon the remembering townsmen.

Many a day they were minor annoyances, but now he could not be bothered to care an inkling about them. Nothing mattered now that his world was taken. Regina, James, Snow, none of them were anything to him, but memories in a heart bursting with abject regrets.

Too careless and lost in his swamp of disparity to look up, the Dark One waved his hand insipidly to the door. "I'm not dealing today. Get out." He sighed sorrowfully without the usual snap.

"We need your help." The grouchy dwarf protested, panic lacing his stern words. Stepping forward towards the fiend, his muddy boots imprinted their mold on the wood floor as he cautiously neared. He seemed as though a brave knight going to poke a slumbering dragon. "It's about the curse." The surly Leroy informed him tenuously.

A trite scoff fled from Gold's lips at the worn topic. So many people had come to him to inquire about the curse they had whittled down what little after interest he had in the fetid web of such intricate power now shattered and evaporated. But if answering an inquiry would give him peace to drown in his morass of love lost, perhaps he could oblige them. Belle would have heard them out, he knew sullenly within his dying heart. Could he not do the same?

"The curse is broken." He snapped the ledger book of tickets and map closed with a dull thud. A hint of a satisfied smile edged his lips as the dwarves leapt nervously at the sound.

The surly leader of the dwarves tossed his head staunchly, shaking off the burden of his fear. Horror gleamed ruddily in his eyes that sat squeezed between a mass of weathered wrinkles and coarse hair. "No it aint. Not all of it. We went to the town line, me and the boys here, to see if anything had changed. Sneezy was the first to cross the town line."

"And…?" Gold inquired uninterestingly in a lugubrious breath. What did he care if one dwarf more than likely tripped over the exit of the town?

Sorrowfully and frightened, the dwarves pushed their ever allergic companion forward next to Grumpy.

Pushing his bottle end glasses high up on his face with a trembling hand, the sneezing dwarfs face blanched in front of the Dark One. Holding a tissue to his round face, he seemed almost to be hiding behind the wisp of paper. "Mr. Gold… uh… sir." He fiddled with his lab jacket worn at the pharmacy. "I don't know why the guys brought me here. I think they're suffering from delusion. They keep telling me I'm not Clark the druggist. Leroy probably got them all into a drinking game. I'm so sorry to waste your time on this intrusion, sir…. Um… please don't… send anyone after us…. And um, this won't cost me more in protection will it?"

Abruptly, the Dark One jerked alertly at the words of the sneezing dwarf. Intrigue sparked in his mind, shying away the melancholy prowling his dark heart. Alarm spurred his sorrowed soul into action for the first time in days with a dreadful knowing. He hadn't revamped his extortion yet, only a few of his more minor criminal endeavors.

Looking up to the dwarf, he saw only a healthy fear for a gangster in his eyes, not the horror of being near to a man that could turn him into a toad at the casual snap of his spindly fingers. Terror pooled in icy torrents in the pit of his belly at the look that was not complete. Knots balled and tightened in his gut, nearly making him wretch scalding bile of anxiousness. There was something terribly wrong.

"Who are you?" Gold demanded softly, disbelief hedging his accented voice. After everything it couldn't be…. No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

Sneezing and stammering, the poor dwarf fumbled with words that would not come to his trembling lips. "Please… Mr. Gold."

"I asked, who are you!" The fiend roared manically. Leaning over the counter, he grabbed the drugstore owner by the worn lab jacket. With strength unknown, he pulled the paled clerk close until the dwarfs feet kicked and dangled futilely over the edge of the glass.

The Dark One's breath was like hot coal, burning desperation upon the dwarfs face. Hell blazed in an inferno in his umber eyes, peeling away any falsehood the dwarf, Sneezy, ever held.

Eyes squeezed shut, the pharmacist cried out. "Clark! It's always been Clark!"

"And who am I?" Rumpelstiltskin snarled through clenched teeth.

Sneezy, quivering like a leaf, caught in the gang lord's grip, dared not to give the wrong answer. "Mr. Gold. You're a gang lord, you own the town!" He shouted piteously.

The words, were as cold water doused over the Dark One's sudden blazing insanity. Cold filled his veins cooling his alarm to ashes. Fire extinguished in his heart, the flames in his eyes hissing out. The smoke shredded into thin mists allowing him to see what he had denied himself to see since the dwarves walked in with their cursed companion.

The barrier was still up.

The price of magic.

Limply releasing the dwarf, the Dark One staggered away as though struck by a blow to the jaw. Wide eyed, he blinked in utter disbelief.

The six dwarfs hastily pulled their companion back into their protective cluster away from the suddenly changed Dark One. Confusion and intrigue contorted their simple faces towards the shocked Rumpelstiltskin. If even he was surprised, then things were bad indeed.

Placing a hand to his head, the monster stared dumbly at the concerned dwarves without truly seeing them. Disbelief crowned his visage in a truly insane glow to his skin. All his plans, all his machinations. Could they really have been for not?

"Mr. Gold?" Grumpy dared his name cautiously.

A crazed, small laugh escaped Rumpelstiltskin's lips. "This can't be happening."

"What's happening?" The surly dwarf demanded, his voice even less sure. Were they in even greater danger than even the Dark One suspected?

"My price." Rumpelstiltskin clawed a hand through his straggly hair in sorrow. Fisting hanks of his dirty brown tresses he seemed on the precipice of madness. Pain cracked against his visage, crumbing his morose exterior into heart wrenching grief. "The price of my cowardice, of my selfishness." His voice shattered into a piteous trembling groan.

Waving a hand insipidly at the seven stocky dwarves, his face was a picture of distraught desperation unseen since his son was to be drafted into the ogre's war. "Out, all of you!" He barked savagely with the last of his rage.

All seven, even the accursed Clark obeyed with haste. Now, even more so than before, none wished to be in the presence of Mr. Gold.

Alone, the Dark One listened to the thundering silence. Back to the wall, he slid down to the dusty floor like a broken doll thrown by a child. Hot tears flooded his dark brown orbs in a wave of disparity. For all his planning and cunning scheming, of all his spinning of black webs of cursed power, of all the darkness he bundled in his heart to scale the peaks of redemption, now he had once more barricaded himself away from his boy. The curse of his own magic still stood.

Dark magic was laughing at him for all his strenuous efforts for all the centuries he plunged into the quest to redeem himself in the eyes of his son and make everything right. He had been so close, only to be fettered by the curse that he conjured.

Oh but the foulness did love _that _irony.

"_You have no one now." _The ancient evil prowling in him leered jubilantly in the corruption of his fetid soul. Exacting cruel, savory pleasure from the Dark One's torn heart, the vile darkness cackled at his grief. "_Not one, but twice, you have forfeited the only ones that actually cared about you for your power and now you have nothing. No friends, no family, no one to love you. Poor, foolish spinner, still a slave to your stupidity. Destined to be alone with only the darkness to languish upon."_

Grief slowly gave way to horror in his eyes as the words speared his heart with serrated blades and twisted the mass of flesh into a malformed entity. His soul ached with a near physical force. Clutching the sides of his head, he squeezed his eyes tightly.

By heaven what had he done…. He had given up his son once, his Belle, and now for lust of power, to be always in control, he was left with neither, never to get them back. He could never be content, always he had to have more until everything was gone.

Truly, he had nothing now. The last link to living was obliterated by the same power he conjured to find his son. Always he made the wrong choices and by that he was left with plenty of power, but the power was as acid to his veins.

What good was the power, when Belle's kisses had been stronger? What good magic when seeing his son was all the strength he needed? Power did not afford him love. Power heaped upon him heartache, but he remained a slave unable to let his magic go. Even now with his heart shattered he could not conceive of freeing himself from his precious power.

Waves of grief crashed over the Dark One at the thoughts. Coward, beast, monster, all of those he was and more. He gave up everything and was left with nothing.

Truly, then, Rumpelstiltskin knew sorrowfully, he was alone.

But , perhaps, he supposed with a new, strange, dangerous thought, that could be remedied.

~8~8~

Belle sighed forlornly as she placed the last wet dish in the strainer next to the sink. With the dishes stacked neatly and the kitchen clean, the last of the dinner with her father was done.

Wiping her hands on a dry blue cloth, the beauty leaned against the marble countertop. Arms crossed her stared at her handiwork numbly. She should have felt something, satisfaction, contentment, even a tinge of happiness but her feelings were frozen.

Through all of her days gone from the Dark One, her mind had not departed from the magical monster. Her emotions remained in stasis like the frozen over streams in the forest, unable to move past walking away.

Simply put, she missed him.

Oh course, she needed to leave, for what else could she do under such circumstances? He was unwilling to change, ready to lie and live two lives than give up his thirst for revenge and conquest for power.

Actions came with consequences, something he never seemed to learn though he knew very well all magic came with prices.

Yes, he needed to learn, but why was being away so hard?

"Belle?" The beauty's kind father bubbled her name in a blustery greeting as he entered into the kitchen.

His slightly hunched body scuttled across the tile like a snail over a brick to the cleaned table. Sliding into a chair, the elderly flower salesmen smiled worriedly at his only child. Fatherly love pulsed upon his corpulent ruddy cheeks as he beckoned his child to the empty seat across the table. "I need to talk to you, Belle. I think this chat has been long in coming."

Silent, but suspicious, the beauty complied. In fact, she herself knew a chat was long overdue. Surely he must have heard rumor of her courting the Dark One. While he remained mostly home, such news was not barred by closing doors.

Coughing into his hand, the constantly sick man wheezed. His bones rattled and portly, waxy skin quivered with the jolts of force shuddering through his rotund body.

Alarmed, Belle moved to aid, but he shooed her away with a hand. "Just a tickle in my throat." He lied in a rumbling growl of phlegm.

As the fit settled, he sat straighter in the seat, much like his old self. His smoky indigo eyes, like her own, danced with compassion for her.

"Belle, even though I've been bed ridden for most of my time here, I haven't been deaf to the whisperings around." He began gently. "I remember clearly the horror of losing you to that monster the day he took you from my castle. At that time, I worried for you. I though you hated your captivity. But you've made it no secret you cared for him in his estate and you still care for him here in this world."

Leaning back in her seat, the beauty shrugged helplessly. "I love him, Papa." She replied quietly, her body bracing for his outrage and protests. What else could she say?

"Then why are you miserable?" He cocked his head to the left, his misty eyes dancing with inquiry. No judgment danced in his eyes, littering the beauty's heart with confusion. "I may not know why you love this man, but surely after everything you have been through and can still say you love him, then why do you look as though your heart has been ripped from your chest?"

Belle tossed her head softly. Sadness coated her face like growing mold over some stone angel. "He is a man who makes wrong choices." Her eyes flickered morosely to her father. "I thought you of all people would be happy I severed ties with him."

"I have always held the belief that everyone has a soul mate. But who was I too know your love would be the Dark One?" Laughter bubbled faintly from his small mouth at the twist of fate life dealt his child. "I just want you to be happy, Belle and that is what he gave you. I saw you everyday when the curse still enthralled us and you worked for him. You waltzed on air, and now you seem so… lost."

Despaired, Belle slumped against the table, the heel of her hand lodged under her chin. Her shoulders slumped as though she would be dragged to the center of the earth. "How can I be happy, when the man I love is across town? I want to be with him but there is a swamp of darkness that separates us. I thought leaving him was the right choice, that maybe he could learn, but we've been apart so long and still that never worked. Maybe I was too rash, maybe I was just so angry, but I couldn't stay with him."

"So you've just given up then?" He father perched a fleshy brow.

The beauty tossed her dark amber tresses. "I'll never give up on him, I love him, but he needs to find his way."

"How can he make his way through, when the only lantern he has has been doused?" Her father parried. "True, he must discover the path he must take on his own, but what good, if he cant even see the road? He is lost in his darkness. He is chained to his magic because he cannot see the lock with which to put the key. You were a flicker of light to him, Belle, leading him like a north star. You were his compass, reminding him of who he can be. He started to change with you around both in the curse and out."

A sigh blew from her lips. "But all the horrid things he's done…." There was no excuse for those things.

"I always thought him a beast." Maurice remarked distastefully truthful. "He is lost and he has been so long in darkness he reverts back to that monster. If no one is there to tame him, then that is exactly what he will remain. Annabelle changed the gang lord. Through every dastardly thing she stuck by him, slowly mutating his heart, and in the end her love showed. He was willing to give up his foul empire for your freedom, a lifetime of riches and power for a cell, all to save you. The process was long and arduous and swathed with disappointments, but when it mattered most he changed. Will you not do the same for the Dark One?"

Stunned by her fathers insightful words, the beauty looked away to a window with the curtains drawn back. Snow drifted listlessly down to the white earth, reminding her of the moment she departed from his side. "I've done the worst thing imaginable." She whispered sadly. She had left him all alone, when that was the very last thing he needed.

A wane smile crossed his lips. "Not the worst, Belle. Perhaps a reprieve was exactly what he needed, to remind him of all he stood to lose, a reminder that if he does not change, he stands to lose everything."

He swayed a little in his chair, his smile lazy. "See if he is trying Belle. If he is, then there is hope. You are changing him, I know you are. Just because there are set back does not… does not…."

Abruptly, the flower salesmen paused, his speech stammering to a halt. Swallowing hard, he stared confusedly at his daughter. His azure eyes clouded turning his orbs a gray blue shine.

"Papa?" Belle stared at her father strangely.

Breath spat from his mouth in a gasp that sounded strangled. He looked to try to reply, but his face blanched with a sudden pallid sheen. His thick fingers clutched at his chest and clawed at his blue shirt as though struck. A paltry cry fell from his lips as he toppled to the left.

"Papa!" Belle dove to him as he crashed to the tile, his body laying prone and pale before her.

Fingers frantically pressed against his pulse she found the rhythm erratic and faint. Breath wheezed gaspingly from his mouth and his eyes were rolled back in his head.

"Papa!" Belle screamed, but her beloved father did not stir.

~8~8~

Belle's father was in the hospital.

Looking through the thick glass of the intensive care, the Dark One grimaced shrewdly at the man prone upon the crisply made bed. Inside, the lights were dimmed and the world outside was dark, but the figure of the flower salesmen was brightened by a light over his bed.

A gray tinge set Maurice's pallor, giving him the look of one already dead and ready for the grave. The heart monitor at his side bleeped vapidly, and his chest rose only inches under the thin blanket. Clear medicine dripped down from a bag into his right arm, delivering the last hope to his worn heart.

He had a massive heart attack, Dr. Whale had informed him nervously when Gold cornered him for a private interrogation. While they had gotten him stable, he wasn't optimistic the flower salesmen would make it through the night. They had made him comfortable, but that was all they could do.

Belle had been with her papa all the day, as Whale reported, holding her fathers cold hand and crying. It was only now she had only left to hurriedly seek out a cup of coffee from her watchfulness and prayers for a miracle. The perfect time for him to strike.

Looking into the ward, the Dark One waved a hand against the spider glass. Magic uncoiled from his fingertips like vipers from their nest. Purple mist trailed through the window and danced upon the astringent air as though sniffing the purified, reused atmosphere. Sinuous tendrils glided towards the bed and hovered in the air, awaiting orders.

Tentatively, by silent command of the Dark One, the mist entered portly Maurice, filling his being. The body quivered a trifle at the foul entry, but did not stir awake. Taking refuge in his corpulent figure, magic assaulted the disease in his body, killing the incriminating toxins and clogs.

Instantly the breathing came easier, the blood flowing smoothly. Color flooded back into his skin. The gray blip on the monitor dashed across the black screen at a brighter, steadier pace.

A smile tipped sadly upon Rumpelstiltskin's face, at the instant improvement. Belle's father would live for many years with the disease being taken from his body; a last gift to his Belle.

Dipping his hand in his suit jacket he produced the last of what he came to give - an envelope. Flourishing his hand, the paper disappeared from his grip in a puff of purple and materialized in the room next to Maurice's bedside. That would explain everything to her, he hoped.

Sensing her return from the quick reprieve, the Dark One slinked away like a shadow retreating from light. Sadness clawed over him, for he had not the courage to see her one last time and say goodbye in person. But being a coward had always been in his nature.

Silently, the Dark One limped away leaving his Belle, without even looking at her lovely face for the last time.

Coffee in hand, none the wiser, the beauty padded in the room tiredly. Red rimmed her eyes, sore from crying, and her skin was sallow, but she refused to leave her papa's side for longer than she had too.

Her father was still sleeping, she noted as she entered, which was good. Though she wished to say goodbye to him one last time, she wanted him to go peacefully as though just in a nap.

Looking down at her oddly hale father, the beauty placed her cup on the table nearest his bed. As the cup brushed against the new paper, she paused to see a letter addressed to her. Confusion beetled her flawless brow. Had the doctor been in for the small time she was away?

"What's this?" She delicately plucked up the envelope. The epistle was light, but there was a familiar smell, one she could not name, but niggled in the back of her mind. Making sure her father was settled, the beauty leaned against the table and opened the envelope.

A single sheet of paper written on stationery in a handwriting she knew all too well fell into her grip.

Rumpelstiltskin.

Hearty hammering with the sudden note in her grasp, she read.

_My dearest Belle,_

_You were right. Everything you have said has come to pass. I am a selfish beast who makes wrong choices. This darkness in me…it is a hard thing to scrape away from my soul. The evil is a ravenous beast I cannot tame. I don't think I can, could, do this alone. I am too weak, cur, coward, monster that I am to toss off these shackles by sheer will. I'm afraid I never will be that strong. _

_I cannot live like I am with the knowledge of how I have failed you, my one true love, my darling Belle. Failing you is the destruction of my heart. I can bear not another moment lost of your light and embrace. Once, I had amends to be made, a goal to spur my sordid life, but now even that has been ripped from my selfish grip. You were right, in the end all I have left is an empty heart and a chipped cup. _

_I will remedy this. _

_With the last bit of magic, I plan to invoke, I have healed your father. This, will be my final gift to you, a small token of goodness from my vile powers. I hope you accept this paltry present, as my last act of love for all you've awoken in me. I love you, and I will always love you, but my heart cannot bear the thought of knowing you, and knowing I have soldered so many pains to our love. Even as you read this, I make my way to the town line. The border is still transfixed with the curse that traps us in the town. Many do not know this, but they soon will. As I walk across, I will lose all memory of who is the Dark One. Perhaps, I will even lose who Mr. Gold the gangster was instilled in my cursed mind. I think that would be best. _

_I will have no memory of you, and I can only hope, no memory of the disappointments I've given you. _

_Cowardly? Perhaps, but I was always a coward. _

_I hope this Mr. Gold can love you from afar and treasure you in the depths of his heart, but not say his feelings aloud. I wish this Mr. Gold to be kind, or the kind of man you would wish me to be. I ask you not to rethread the ties of our love, for the curse would surely be shattered from me and we would end up in the same situation - me disappointing you with my many failures. _

_Belle, I'm tired f being weak. I am fatigued of being a coward. I am exhausted of not being the man you see. If the only way I can be the man I know I must be is cursed then so be it. _

_Know that there will always be a spark of love for you in my heart. No darkness can douse such a flame of ardor, but separation will keep that light cowled and dimmed. _

_I love you, Belle, and I hope when you see me again, you will be proud of the man I could not make myself be by will alone. _

_If you are happy with the enchanted man you see, then this monster will sleep in peace under his curse._

_Yours eternally, _

_Rumpelstiltskin. _

Scalding tears brimmed the beauty azure eyes as she finished the note. Alarm and love and panic all swirled through her body, goading her limbs to actions.

Grabbing her coat on the edge of the bed, the beauty raced through the ward, heedless of looks or cries. Prayers tumbled from her fervently lips like the snow falling outside. All she could do was pray to meet him before he did anything rash and shatter what little they had built up.


	20. Woeful Delight

Thick flurries of alabaster snow swirled over the rolling banks of frost upon the sleeping world of Storybrooke. The quaint hamlet slumbered soundly under the snow and was transformed into a forlorn tundra over the past few days of relentless frost packed neatly upon the world. Barren tree limbs were crested with frost and the edges of houses sat fanged with translucent icicles. Snow sat layered upon the world like icing decorated on a cake. World enraptured in all the frigid glory of winter, the town looked as picturesque as a postcard.

Oh but what a tangled woven web lay beneath the drifts of frost! Who on the outside of the frozen province would ever believe that magic played a part in all their lives and that the man responsible for such power was about to cast away all that made him unique?

Belle felt the taint of sheer hopelessness darken her soul as she stared into the thick banks impeding her path. Despair tinged her heart in a streak of sable slashing down to her very core. The roads were blocked and many that were clear lay slick with treacherous black ice. She could never make it to the town line in time. Even if her love hadn't teleported to the outskirts of the county, which she weighed in her mind, she couldn't hope to make the journey on foot through the hazardous ice and frost and more so with a car.

Here we was about to make one of the biggest mistakes of his life and she couldn't even reach him! Leaning against a frigid light pole the beauty muttered a curse in a cloud of gray breath. Distraught, Belle pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. "Rumpel." His name hissed from her lips. Plumes of gray clouds stole in wisps from her mouth and swirled against the brisk wind as though taking his name so sadly uttered to the fiends ears.

She couldn't reach him in time, and by the looks of the gray sky the snow was not far in coming down once more as well.

Struck with a sudden epiphany, the beauty looked up from the morass of her despair. Perhaps there was a way to arrive at the border. Turning to the opposite direction, the beauty stared down the lonely sidewalk. If there was no way to reach him in time by walking then there was only one last option to attempt. Though that option could have her life in peril, there was no other way to reach her love in time or at least reach him after his disastrous choice.

Hands wrapped about her slender form, the beauty trudged stoically to the office of Madame Mayor Regina Mills.

~8~8~

Gray dimness from the failing light of day seeped insipidly through the gauzy gray curtains in the mayors top floor office. The world outside was a creamy iron hue casting the black and white walls into the scene of some winter forest of some ancient woodland.

Inside, the cold that swept the town and enthralled the hamlet in winters cruel gripped was dashed to nothingness. Wood crackled merrily in the fireplace in the black and white motif office. Soft orange light cast dull shadows against the soft hued furniture and the woman sitting close to their biting tongues of flames.

Regina stared thoughtfully into the guttering fire in the hearth of her white and black motif office, like a cat entranced by the flames. Donned in a black suit and short office like skirt, she still looked as regal in her office as she did a queen haunting her private quarters on a lone winters day.

Gazing into the hearth, her mind conjured images of the twists and turns her life had taken. Red teeth gnashed at the wood, flickering and popping somberly in the fireplace, gathering the images then whisking them away. To Regina the fire was like the back and forth warfare in her mind between good and evil. Henry wanted her to be good, and even she wished to be that person of old, but after everything that had happened, after all she had done, could she truly be good?

Casually sipping a glass tumbler of mulled cider, Regina frowned ponderously into the flames. The alcohol pleasantly numbed the lingering aches from the gone bruises on her body. After Rumpelstiltskin harm she was healing nicely. Of course that would not ever make up for his damage done to her, and like so many of her hurts, at least the physical wounds were no longer present on his pallid flesh.

A mirthless chuckle at the depressing thought fell from her lips in ironic amusement. Was her life always to be that way, to bear her pains and scars scored across her heart rather than on her skin? Or could she heal those wounds?

Even as the contemplation entered her mind, the witch sensed another presence. Alarm tingled against her pale skin, but she remained sitting where she was.

"Regina, I need your help." Belle burst into the room, snatching the thought away from the powerful mayor.

Somber brown eyes pinioned upon the bickering flames the mayor huffed mirthlessly. She should have been incensed upon the unwarranted intrusion, but her heart could not find enough ire to care about Rumpelstiltskin's irksome slave girl. "Help from me? Why would I possibly help the beast's crazy love?"

Why did someone with Rumpelstiltskin, the undisputed, most powerful magician in all the realms, entrapped in the palm of their hand need help from anyone? The imp was practically enslaved to his precious Belle. He went even so far as trying to "change" for her all to show his ardor and want for her.

"Because I helped you." The beauty explained desperately in a surge of panic. Striding briskly through the dim room she stood at the side of the chair, looking down at the sorceress. "I could have easily left you in that room to await death at his leisure."

The cunning sorceress shook her head. "But you didn't." Regina parried carefully. A small smirk tipped her glossy lips. "You're too good to let your 'Rum' succumb to such darkness."

Taking a step forward, Belle stood oblique to the fire. "And what are you, Regina? This is your chance to do something good. Even to some one who might not deserve saving."

There was a point there, Regina admitted begrudgingly to herself. Shifting uncomfortably in her leather chair she diverted her eyes to the popping logs instead of the biting flames. She was trying to the a better mother for Henry, but that did not imply she had to help the love of her nemesis, the one who played her like a puppet all those years.

"What's it you need?" She queried quietly into the rim of her crystalline tumbler, not agreeing to aid, but listening all the same.

Relived for at least a foot in the door, Belle gathered her courage. "A teleportation spell. To the town line." She breathed out at once.

"Why don't you just get you little boyfriend to…. Oh." Realization dawned upon her, gracing light to her curiosity. Her ruby lips split into a blood red crescent. "Oh I see. He's doing something at the town border you don't want."

Frantically the beauty nodded. "Very much so. I have to stop him, I have too. You're my last hope Regina. I can't reach the line on foot and the roads are too treacherous to dare with haste."

Smiling slyly, Regina arched in her seat like a stretching cat after a comfortable doze. Whatever Belle was determined to stop probably was in her interest as well. Nothing the dark toad ever planned usually ended in anyone's favor but his own.

"Very well." Waving her hands, utter, fathomless black exploded from her palm. "I suppose I do owe you _something_ for freeing me."

In an instant, Belle was engulfed in a steamy morass of darkness. Sable clawed at her skin and dark fire burned her eyes. Pain exploded in her aching lungs with the jolt of being transported miles and miles away. Still, she knew she would make her destination, the only question was, would she be too late.

~8~8~

Twilight clawed over the world as the Dark One stopped his car at the edge of the forest where Storybrooke ended and the new world began. The trip had taken longer than expected, but his course had not changed. If anything, he was more resilient to his task.

Slipping from his black vehicle, the fiend limped vapidly to the bright orange paint along the road. Though the road was barely cleaned but the orange stood out against the dirty snow and the black asphalt.

Car rumbling softly next to the town line, Rumpelstiltskin stared at the bright orange boundary between his old and new life. He would have teleported himself to the border, but doing so would have gone against his promise to Belle. Would he end his life still breaking the promises to his love? No, that was not the way to begin a new life, still mired in his old. His new self would ask questions and that was the last thing he wished. Better to think himself in an accident or blacked out than anything as incredible as him being a powerful magician.

A thick envelope addressed to himself sat snugly under one of the windshield wipers to his car, detailing where his keys were and how to get back to town. While he wanted to forget all he had done to hurt his beloved heart, the last thing he wanted was to amble about the snow laden forest and die in the bitter cold. But if he did, he supposed grimly, then such a lonesome, frigid demise was no less than he deserved.

Standing at the border, both hands on the hilt of his gold cane, his eyes searched the snow laden pines and firs clustered on both sides of the barren roadway. Contentment soothed the last nagging of his soul into quietude like the land about him. The world was in a slumbering quiet, allotting him an odd peace in his black heart. Yes, he noted inwardly, this place would be a fine graveyard where Rumpelstiltskin died. There was no better place fitting for a coward that deserved to be alone.

"I hate you." He muttered aloud to himself, his eyes cast down to the gravel. "Dark One." The moniker spat past his mouth like gray poison taken by the air. "You've caused me nothing but pain and sorrow and I have allowed it because I am a coward. I couldn't stand up for my son, and I couldn't stand up to this curse. Goodbye forever."

Fear gripped his dark, palpitating heart at the end of the eulogy to himself, but he stared firmly at the slightly shimmering border. The small funeral to who he was was over, but even now was he too much a coward to swipe the slate of his being clean with hopes for goodness?

Stoically thrusting the thought far away from his mind, the fiend stared determinedly at the length of road snaking before him. This was for Belle. Could he not give up what little he had for her?

Taking a step towards the barrier, he toed the borders of orange. Biting down hard on his bottom lip, he steadied himself for one leap, and fought back down his terror of the unknown.

For Belle, he repeated inwardly, for his true love.

"Rumpel stop!" Belle cried out.

Grabbing him from behind, the brave beauty clutched at his suit jacket in a vice. Desperately, she tugged at the fine jacket, pulling him well back behind the line. He couldn't depart. Not that way.

Spinning around, the Dark One gaped at his Belle. Standing in a thin skirt and light jacket, she gazed up livingly towards him. Trails of smoky ebon power drifted from her skin and swirled intro the crisp air.

Blinking owlishly, he stared. What was she doing there? "Belle how, why…?"

"Regina transported me." The beauty explained breathlessly, her body trembling with the excitement of nearly watching her love become no more.

His brow knitted slightly in consternation. "Regina helped you?"

"She owed me. I helped her." Belle replied. "She showed me there was a little good in her soul, just like I know what's in you."

"There is no good in me, Belle." He shook his head mournfully, his heart falling back into the chasm or regret. "How can there be? This is the only way to prove to you, to make me be a good man"

Clutching her love, determined not to let him take another step, she stared deeply into his chestnut orbs. "There is. Just because you can't see your goodness doesn't mean its not there." Tears brimmed in her azure eyes. "I'm sorry, I should have never…."

"No, don't apologize for anything." The fiend tossed his head truculently, his eyes belligerent. His fingers lovingly grazed against her snow kissed skin. "You are innocent in this. If I had never taken you to the Dark Castle, if I had never gotten this power…."

Grasping his hands, the beauty held them close. "We can't change the past, Rum. We need to look forward to the future."

"And what is the future?" The fiend queried in a whisper. "No one can cross the town line. We're all stuck here with who we really are or damned to falsehoods and blankness. I did that. I need to pay."

"Not this way." Her breath came out in a tortured whisper. "I can't lose you, Rum. I won't. Life isn't worth the living if I don't have you. If this is what you truly want then I'll cross with you."

Amazed, he shook his head fiercely. "No, I won't subject you to that. You've lost your memory once. I could not impugn that upon you again."

"No one controls my fate but me." She parried strongly, her voice cracked. "Do you know how hard my heart would break to see you everyday, and not be able to hold you or press your lips against mine? Too look you in the eyes and have not a glimmer of recognition of the man I once loved? That would truly kill me."

His lips quivered tremulously, his body backing to the line. Love for her flooded his heart, but h couldn't bear the thought of hurting her again. "Belle please, I must…."

"Together." Her feet moved with his, guided by her ardor for him.

And in an instant they had crossed. Magic warped across the duo, barreling over them in a pernicious wave of evil. Malicious power clawed at their hearts to taint and mold and twist into the opposite of whom they were. Talons of magic carved and dug into their brains to whisper false memories.

For a moment their body jerked and undulated, subject to the power then all quieted. The only sound about them was the snow falling in the whispering hush.

Hand in hand, both looked to one another.

"Rum?"

"Belle?"

They called one another names simultaneously, tentatively.

Rumpelstiltskin looked about, his eyes scanning the snowy land for any difference. "The curse…."

"Rum the curse." Belle grabbed his arm happily.

He blinked in amazement. "I know Belle."

"No, look!" She prompted, pointing to the barrier behind them.

Curiously the Dark One followed her finger though he need not have have. The change was as obvious as his gray-gold skin in the old world. Lines of bright purple cracked against the barrier in long striations. The lines looked akin to cracks upon an eggshells about to spill the contents of its carapace. A swirling mass of colors like prisms caught in a soap bubble stirred dizzyingly. The lines of lilac grew bigger running in an arch above them and the trees.

Both looking up, they followed the cracks as far as they would go till the snow began to fall once more. Purple snow.

"The curse." The fiend awed aloud. "The barrier."

Smiling, the brown haired beauty clutched his hands. "True love."

"True love." He repeated slowly as though the words were foreign upon his tongue.

Surely then there was no question in any world, in the face of the darkest curse, true love, even from a angel to a beast was stronger than all the foulness the evil could conjure.

Turning to the beauty, the Dark One stared with all the love in his soul towards his Belle. How many words of love did he wish to speak? How many utterance of passion lay locked behind his heart. "You're in no conduction to be out here." He blurted suddenly, his mind in jumbles. Wrapping her in his arms, her pressed the warmth of his body to her. "Let me take you home." He whispered lovingly. "Our home."

"But your son…." Her words flagged as he pointed to the way out of town.

A smile that could have melted the snow from the barren lips donned his face. "One day will not change anything. Besides, when I find my boy, I'd like him to greet his new mother."

Though the path was open and a new adventure lay before him, to have the woman he loved in his arms, knowing she loved even his brute side burned away all other thoughts to ash. First he would find the nearest church to wed them, and then he would make his family whole once more.

Whatever came after that, well, would have to wait.

~8~8~

_A/N: One more chapter to go lovelies! Are you ready for the end of this story, and the beginning of S3?_


	21. The Beginning of an End

When the barrier shattered the cursed fringe of the transported town, things began to look up for the Dark One and his love. On that night the encapsulated magic was sundered from the world, the beauty and the beast were wedded.

The wedding was a small, impromptu affair, tucked away in the county register by an official awoken in the gray, snowy night and a very frightened pastor to oversee their strange union.

For Rumpelstiltskin, the vows spoken beneath the naked light bulb above them in a dusty government building upon an icy winter's night was the grandest moment of his long, long life. Even in the dimness of the flickering bulb his Belle looked stunning to his eyes, more finely gowned than any bride attired in white. Her love was her veil and her beauty the gown that shone radiantly in his eyes.

Tears of joy, instead of the sadness he often coaxed by his foolishness and temptations to her brilliant azure depths, brimmed in her eyes and flooded his heart with utmost jubilation.

Truly now, she was his all and forever, not by a deal of a desperate kingdom, or a gang lords bribery to a poor librarian, but tethered by the unbreakable, inseparable bonds of love woven about their hearts.

That night, with the snow falling in a whispering hush, the Dark One took her to his home and for one glorious night they were one flesh. Flames danced upon their fingertips and passion scourged their hearts in a blaze. Sweet words erupted from their lips and declarations of ardor whispered against one another's flesh.

At last they sealed their eternal bond, binding them with their final consummation that melded the links of love. Forever.

When dawn kissed the sky the next day and they awoke messily in one another's arms with kisses and smiles aplenty, then truly their quest began. All the recourse from his life as a gang lord bent to the task of finding his boy. Others in his gang placed tactfully around the world and even Emma Swann was commissioned to seek his beloved boy he'd lost so long ago.

For days the Dark One danced upon eggshells, worried to locate his son. Would he still hate him for letting go? Would he have resigned the errors that occurred so long ago and forgive his father? Was he even still alive?

Through his blistering, scathing turmoil, Belle was there to see him through. Her love and reason was an anchor to his ship rocked by large waves of doubt crashing over the vessel of his heart in the storm of despair.

She stayed his quaking nerves and while he did slip with his powers once or twice, he kept his magic's pent up to show he was trying. Tendrils of lavender often blotted the tips of his fingers, on the very precipice of enacting his dreaded powers, but he held back, for his wife. Even Bae, his reckoned hopefully, would see he was trying to make a difference.

For long weeks the search for Bae was an arduous one. Results ended up nowhere, and trails remained cold and barren. Despair coiled tightly about his heart, squeezing all promise his boy was alive.

And then, by some miracle, or perhaps fate was smiling upon them, Balefire was located closer than anyone could have predicted.

Not only was he found, a strong, young lad in his late 20's, but filled with three lifetimes of adventure and loathing for his father, but he was also the sire of Henry, the boy that connected them all in a web of deceits and family ties.

With the news of her new family, Belle was thrilled to be a grandmother of sorts and in the depths of his black heart so was the Dark One. It felt good to have a family of sorts again, though most of that family hated him with a burning loathing that melted away any kinship at all.

As their lives slowly evolved with his son in the picture, their adventures were not even close to over. Regina's cunning never did cease, and neither did the Charming's quest to be in their rightful home.

Through battles and turmoil and strife, and one curse breaker, in time, they were taken back to their rightful land.

Joy gushed over the land of the newly returned peoples to their rightful home. They were all prodigals back to their rightful place and habitats, one more their own kind rather than humans warped by some foul enchantment. Dwarves were dwarves, fairies were fairies, giants were giants and all was set aright. But even with their return happiness lay marred with the black stains of those responsible. Those who had done the crime of making their live miserable were in need to pay.

Regina was banished to her black, jutting castle for the rest of her days, content to live her life from the presence of the rest of the world all for the exception of her son. Solitude was her penance and she had no qualms with such a sentence. A grove of dark, twisted trees, nearly impenetrable by normal means and enchanted by the fairies surrounded the black fortress in a sea of midnight pines. Only her son was given the special rune to teleport their from time to time through the coppices of gnarled forest to visit a mother he still cherished. With that Regina was satisfied to live out her days, bearing the burden of all she had done alone, and perhaps at peace.

For Rumpelstiltskin, the punishment was slightly different.

Dedicated to his vow to abstain from magic, he allowed himself to be chained and caged and held trial by those he had harmed the most. No longer did he wish to be seen as the Dark One though his gray-gold skin was returned with their entry into the world of their forbears.

The Charming's wished him to stand trials for all his evils done, though they were dubious he would put himself on their level. Surprisingly, to all involved, he did bow to their rules and mandates. Unbound, with Belle in tow, he went to his old cell kept in the base of the castle of his own free will.

Always by his side, Belle remained in the same cell. She could have returned to her father's palace, or even petitioned Snow for a room in the castle, but the beauty was ever loyal, even to stay at his side in the blackness of a fetid cage. Though luxury could have been afforded her, she was happy just to be with him. To have him near was a better comfort than any plush bed or padded pillow.

~8~8~

"What do you think will happen to us, Rum?" Belle queried sleepily from the pile of filthy, matted straw in the dark cell.

Darkness coated the room in oily blackness save for a few lowly guttering torches down the desolate, craggy tunnel leading to the cell. Ebony smoke stains covered the rafters of the rocky walls and enchanted steel with odd patterns and magical traps sat prone and hidden down the long corridor to await any tricks the Dark One had planned. Water plinked intermittently into a shallow pool somewhere in the caverns far below the grand castle, sending hallow echoes down the maze of black tunnels.

Dank firelight from the insipid torches glittered off the slimy walls and the Dark One's renewed scaly skin as he shifted from the enveloping shadows. Sleepily, he pried open an eye and snuggled deeper against his love's body. "We?" The word drawled sleepily from his lips in an impish, jaw creaking yawn. "What makes you think they will sentence us both?" He smiled into the crook of her neck. "You are innocent in these dealings; they will not sentence you."

"Do you think I would leave you?" She grinned determinedly into the darkness and shifted herself comfortable against his skin. "Where you go I go."

"To the end of the world?" He chortled manically.

"And beyond." She declared softly, determination steeling her tone.

A frown creased his lips at the thought. Magic spurted to life in his blood, eager to cause mischief and destruction. Though he was trying to do good in keeping the festering, additive power under his thrall, his death nor hers by their hands would never occur. If he was sentenced to death he would not subject his Belle to demise nor himself to the hangman's noose.

Though he was in the cage, his captors held only an illusion of power compared to his own. If they were too stupid to realize that, then what they received from his ire was their own fault.

He was as an adult playing "jail" with children who thought themselves in control. All they could do was pretend to keep him locked up, but in the end he could stop the game whenever he chose simply by waving his hand.

Even as the thoughts dashed through his mind, forming ideas into pawns in the chess board that was his ancient mind, boots thundered down the long corridor. Contemplations forgotten for the moment, the fiend sat upright, to look into the dimness.

Steel glinted in the guttering flames, dancing with the filthy illumination. The razors edge of a sword appeared through the brackish light, brandished warily in the dankness.

"It's time." Grumpy declared roughly as he appeared down the hall. His sword point was dipped to the stone as he fumbled for the key to the cell of the beast and his beauty.

Rising from the litter of soft straw, the pair clasped hands as they slipped from the magical bars. While the surly dwarf could have led them in chains, he was no fool to think Rumpelstiltskin lacked power. Small links of iron would be useless against the Dark One who still held his magic though for some reason refused to use his dark gifts for freedom.

Staring at the pair disapprovingly, the dwarf nudged his head the way he had came. His lips curled into a sneer beneath his curly beard as he turned. "Follow me." He order lowly and stomped away.

Endless tunnels led them through the labyrinth of dungeons and caverns. The dwarf's knowledge of the earth was impeccable. Through twists and turn he led the pair till they reached a secret door leading right to the court.

The sound of merry music echoed dully from behind the thick portal. Cheers and well-wishes rang out and glittering glasses clinked in jubilation. For a sentencing, their seemed to be a ball sprung up from that fact as well.

Light stung their eyes as Grumpy opened the thick door and the pair stepped out into the brightness of the grand court.

Once more restored to the happy court of Queen Snow and King James, the lands about the kingdom were again ripe and fruitful and drowned with happiness wrought forth from the just rulers of the land who'd endured so much. The grand, creamy hued marble of the balustrades and the floor and the spiral steps had been scrubbed clean, leaving the court in a brilliant luster. The ivory columns lining the stately court stood tall and proud. Suspicious dwarves and angry men and other folk clustered behind the round columns like animals behind copses of white trunks, their eyes following the three.

Vapidly the pair walked behind the dwarf. Their footsteps echoed about the domed, high roof and the endless columns. All eyes pinioned upon them, leaving no move unseen. The fairies hovered above the heads of courtiers and onlookers, their wands bright and brandished.

Trepidation welled in the Dark One. Their eyes stapled upon him, making the magic in him roil. Power stirred in him like a dragon awakened from his den and ready to rain havoc. Low growls rumbled from his throat like a wild beast put on display. He liked things his way, not shown out to an entire court like some novelty.

Belle squeezed her love hands tight, goading him to be strong in the face of their spectators. The temptation for using magic must have been gnawing away at his heart, she supposed sadly wishing to comfort him, but having no means other than a loving look and a strong heart.

Casting a glance her way, the fiend smiled widely. His eyes showed no fear or battle with the darkness roaming in him. Strong, he whispered inwardly to dampen the magic. For her he could be strong.

As the dwarf halted, so too did the murmurings of the creatures gathered to see justice meted out to the Dark One.

"Rumpelstiltskin." James spoke the long moniker sternly. The name echoed away into obscurity, settling like the last of a storm.

Arms spread wide, the fiend dipped a low bow in his ever flamboyant manner. "At your service your majesty." He grinned madly, ever the chuckling imp.

"Your stand before this court for crimes against these realms and many more. For murder, theft, and horrible acts against all creatures of this world." Snow declared regally, her voice soft but carrying authority. Chin high, she was the perfect mixture noble and normal. Courtly grace settled upon her alabaster cheeks and righteous judgment that non could deny danced in his eyes.

"And my sentence?" The beast inquired softly, all puerile impetuousness gone from his scaled visage.

The rulers turned to their daughter standing by their side. Staring coolly at the Dark One, the now princess returned to her rightful home picked up where her parents lefts off for her first royal duty.

"There has been a lot of discussion. A lot of bickering, yelling, and opposing discussion on how to deal with you." She explained in her blunt way. "There really is no way we can stop you. Even now I think you could leave that cell whenever you wanted too. But for some reason…." Her eyes clandestinely flickered to Belle then back to the fiend. "For some reason you've chosen to voluntarily do things right. Still that doesn't change the fact of all the things you've done."

Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself for the sentence. "So Rumpelstiltskin, you are hereby banished from the realm and those of our allies, to live out your days in the infinite forest. The people are prohibited from making deals with a criminal. You are hereby an outlaw of the realms and should you break the sentence we've given rest assured we will take action."

Surprised murmurs rankled from the crowd at the declaration. The judgment bordered upon clemency! Dwarves and fairies stared at one another and humans whispered amongst themselves in a thunder of skepticism and gossip.

Beside Emma, Bae, his boy, stared down at his papa from the dais. Regret for the decision glinted in his cold brown eyes, but he held his tongue behind a grim frown. There was too much his father had done not to pay for his actions.

In time, they had found a mutual way to make peace with all he had done, but that did not imply he would simply get over what his father had done, even centuries before.

"Let's go Rum." Belle gripped his hand once more, to guide him to the exit. Where they would go, she did not know, perhaps the Dark Castle, but she wasn't certain he was willing to go there with such temptations and bad memories lingered in the drafty corridors and swept through every room.

"This doesn't apply to you, Belle." Emma voice rose behind them, over the dull thunder of gossip. "If you choose you will be granted steward of the library here in the kingdom."

Instantly all voice halted their talk of the Dark One and his sentencing. Belle was a different story. Many in their cursed states had known her, and she was a good woman, albeit with a strange taste in mates. The rumor was she had wedded him, though if that was fact, none could testify to the union.

Turning about, the beauty stared at the royal dais thoughtfully. A trace of wistfulness passed in a wink against her lovely features but left quicker than the want came. The offer hung temptingly in the air, like some intangible, succulent fruit. Once that had been her dream….

Every eye turned to them, greedily soaking in the interaction.

The beauty chanced a shrug, not showing a hint of want to see the greatest library of their old world. "He's my love. I'll follow him anywhere. His path his mine." She declared stubbornly, her timbre not housing a hint of regret.

"Think about this, Belle." Emma cautioned. "We've sentenced him to banished solitude. To be with the Dark One is a crime. You'll be setting yourself up for a life with little peace. Someone who dwells in the forests of the wilds no kingdom will claim as theirs. We can't stop others who he's wronged from going after him, or those he loves. You could have peace here."

"I'll never renounce him." Belle's cobalt eyes glittered defiantly.

The blonde nodding stiffly. "From now on." Emma began dryly. "Rumpelstiltskin and Belle, daughter of King Maurice are banished from the kingdom."

"Belle you don't have to do this." The Dark One whispered softly to his love. Taking her hand, he held them close. "Think about this."

Though she was ever faithful, she was on the precipice of a life she did not want. All she wished for, longed for, stood before her ready to be plucked up, but with him was only darkness and hardships littered with his faults. That was no life for an angel.

Freely shaking her head she sidled close by him, her hand entwining with his gangly talons. "I would rather live the rest of my life as an outlaw with you, than able to go anywhere I want without you by my side."

Though he knew she would not leave his side, he was always surprised by her ardor for him. Did she care so much for him, horrid, ugly beast that he was?

As though hearing his silent inquiry of amazement, the beauty pecked his scaled cheek with a kiss. "Always." She whispered lovingly, settling his emotions into a graceful peace.

Love bloomed wildly in his heart with such a simple gesture. With all his worries and faults she knew him so well and still excepted him for who he was.

As they exited the castle, both stared at the wild land beyond the huts and wattle and daub buildings about the castle walls. The forestland was dark and untamed, rife with adventure and danger and wildness they would have to grow accustomed to.

"You know, if you'd like, I could turn them all into snails." He sighed wistfully, a smile spitting his face.

Forcing down a giggle, Belle shoved his arm playfully. "No. We have a chance to do things right."

Even if their new life was banishment, it was a new start, a fresh page not littered with darkness or crimes or deals. Perhaps, even this banishment was a blessing hidden beneath the folds of punishment.

For the first time there would be nothing hold them back. Completely, utterly, with nothing, they were truly free.

"Well, shall we begin forever?" He arched a brow her way, his obsidian black eyes glinting with mischief.

Belle smiled as she leaned into him. Arm slipping into his, she leaned her head on his shoulder, her body radiating peace. "Married, in love, fighting darkness, yes I think we are ready now to begin eternity together."

Hand in hand they disappeared into the wilds, outcast, criminals, but together where they belonged at last.

**~8~8~**

_A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone. I had a wonderful time writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading! With that being said..._

**THE DROUGHT IS OVER!  
**

**Ready yourselves, Once Upon a Time is coming :3. 2 hour premier so it's on an hour earlier than usual! **


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